“My dear Mrs. Witt, why didn’t you say so before?”
“Before there was anything to meet? Is that your way, Mr. Blodwell?”
“George may bring back something to meet.”
Neaera rose and went to her writing-table. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t show it to you,” she said. “I was just going to send it to Lord Tottlebury. It will be a pleasant surprise for Mr. George Neston when he comes back from Peckton with his proofs!” She handed Mr. Blodwell a sheet of note-paper.
He took it, throwing one quick glance at Neaera. “You wish me to read this?”
“It’s letting you into the secrets of my early days,” she said. “You see, I wasn’t always as well off as I am now.”
Mr. Blodwell adjusted his eye-glass and perused the document, which set forth that Miss N. Gale entered the service of Mrs. Philip Horne, of Balmoral Villa, Bournemouth, as companion to that lady, in March, 1883, and remained in such service until the month of July, 1883; that, during the whole of such period, she conducted herself with propriety; that she read aloud with skill, ordered a household with discretion, and humoured a fussy old lady with tact (this is a paraphrase of the words of the writer); finally, that she left, by her own desire, to the regret of the above-mentioned Susan Horne.
Neaera watched Mr. Blodwell as he read.
“Eighteen eighty-three?” said he; “that’s the year in question?”
“Yes, and April is the month in question—the month I am supposed to have spent in prison!”