“Please go away; I want to go to sleep.”
“You want to cry. You do nothing but sleep and cry, and cry and sleep; no wonder you have tired Archie’s patience out.”
“I have not tired Archie out. Oh, I wish he was here! I wish he was here!”
“He will be back in five or six weeks, unless Marion persuades him to go to the Mediterranean—and, as the Admiral is so fond of the sea, that move is not unlikely.”
“Please go away.”
“I shall be only too happy to do so.”
Now it happened that the footman, in taking in the mail, had noticed the letter for Sophy, and commented on it in the kitchen; and every servant in the house had been glad for the joy it would bring to the lonely, sick woman. So there was nothing remarkable in her maid saying, as she dressed her mistress:—
“I hope Mr. Braelands is well; and though I say it as perhaps I shouldn’t say it, we was all pleased at your getting Master’s letter this morning. We all hope it will make you feel brighter and stronger, I’m sure.”
“The letter was Madame’s letter, not mine, Leslie.”
“Indeed, it was not, ma’am. Alexander said himself, and I heard him, there is a long letter for Mrs. Archibald this morning,’ and we were all that pleased as never was.”