“My darling,” it said, “I am in the deepest grief. A dreadful calamity has overtaken me, and I must consider well and reflect before I move a step. I think it best for me not to present myself in Great Porter Square. You want to see me, I know, as I want to see you, but before we meet it is necessary that you should read a Statement I am preparing for you, and which will be in your hands late tonight. There must be no more secrets between us. Believe me ever your devoted and unhappy lover.”
At eleven o’clock Becky received the “Statement.” It was a thick packet, on the outside of which was written: “For no other eyes but yours.” When the messenger arrived—he was a middle-aged man, with a shrewd face and eye—Mrs. Preedy was out of the house, gossiping as usual with Mrs. Beale, and confiding to her the wonderful news that she had a servant who was very rich. Mrs. Beale gave Mrs. Preedy a bit of shrewd advice. “Orfer to go into partnership with ’er, my dear,” said Mrs. Beale, “and take a ’ouse on the other side of the Square.” Mrs. Preedy confessed it was not half a bad idea.
“I am to give this packet,” said the messenger, “into the hands of a young woman named Becky.”
“I am Becky,” said the anxious girl.
“The gentleman was very particular,” continued the messenger, “and I am to ask you if you expected it.”
“Yes, I expected it.”
“Then I was to ask you for the first letter of the gentleman’s Christian name.”
“F.”
“That is correct.” And the man handed Becky the packet.