"Could you not have waited until I had finished my work here?"
"No, mother. It is Saturday, and Robert may be home by an early train. I think he will, for he is apparently going to England."
"Going to England, so near the Sabbath? Impossible! What set your thoughts on that track?"
"His valise is packed, and directed to Sheffield; but I think he will stop at a town called Kendal. He may go to Sheffield afterwards, of course."
"Kendal! Where is Kendal? I never heard of the place. What do you know about it?"
"Nothing at all. But in going over the mail, I noticed that four letters with the Kendal post-office stamp came to Robert this week. They were all addressed in the same handwriting—a woman's."
"Isabel Campbell!"
"It is the truth, mother."
"Why did you not name this singular circumstance before?"
"It was not my affair. Robert would likely have been angry at my noticing his letters. I have no right to interfere in his life. You have—if it seems best to do so."