"The postman didn't bring it, miss," said Prissy, giving her the letter. "A boy. Said immejiet."
"It must be from---- no." She was thinking of her lover as she looked at the letter, but she saw it was not his hand. She recognised the writing: it was Ruth's. "The envelope is not very clean, Prissy."
"So I told the boy when he brought it to the back door."
"The back door!" exclaimed Esther, rather bewildered.
"It's curious, isn't it, miss, that it wasn't sent by post?"
"Yes, it is. What did the boy say?"
"It's what I said first, miss. 'You've been and dropped it in the gutter,' I said; but he only laughed, and said it was give to him this morning, and that he was to bring it to the servants' entrance and ask for Prissy."
"But why didn't he deliver it this morning?" asked Esther, her bewilderment growing.
"I don't know, miss. He's been playing in the streets all day, I expect. Anyway, he said I was to give it to you when nobody was looking. It's Miss Ruth's writing, miss."
Esther made no remark upon this, but asked, "Did he say who gave it to him?"