"There is a letter from a Mr. Maurice." Mrs. Winton's head became grenadier-like in pose, though she spoke still with studied kindness.
"What did father say?"
"He has not been able to answer it. No address was given."
"Oh, that was me—I mean, it was my doing. At least I wanted it; though really Dick had made no plans, and didn't know where he would be for two or three nights. I wanted you and father to see him. You couldn't say anything without seeing him."
"I think we will leave that question till to=morrow."
"Dick will be coming."
"Not for a day or two, I imagine. We will wait till to-morrow. You have your unpacking to attend to,—and I must write some letters."
"Oh yes,—and all my Swiss treasures to get out."
She ran off blithely, not sorry to defer the great discussion. Mrs. Winton smiled to herself.
The letters that had to be written made slow advance. Mrs. Winton leant back in her chair, and gave herself up to thought.