"Oh, yes, every day almost. He has been of immense assistance to me in choosing furniture and wall paper, and managing the people who did the work. If it hadn't been for him I should have been dreadfully imposed upon, and it would have been ever so much out of your pocket. You will be glad to hear that he will dine with us this evening."
I said I should be glad to see him; and indeed it was a matter of indifference to me, but I determined to be on my guard against him.
"I was angry with him," she continued, "for not meeting us in Geneva, as he promised; but he couldn't, poor fellow. He met with an accident, and had to lay up in a poky little village in Italy. It is such a comfort to me that he is near us. There is no one like our own."
"Is he living in London?"
"For the present. He has been unfortunate and has lost a lot of money—the stupid fellow is so trustful. He went security for a friend and was taken in. Don't you go security for people, John, it's a mistake. I have another surprise for you. 'Our first dinner in our dear little home shall be an unexpected pleasure to John,' I said to myself, when I was looking over my letters, and came across one from your mother."
"My stepmother, Barbara."
"It's all the same. Such a pretty, friendly letter; so full of good advice! Young wives need advice, and old wives can give it them."
"But when did you hear from her?" I asked.
"Don't you remember? It was when we were engaged."
"I remember that I wrote to her of our engagement, and that she did not reply to me. She wrote to you instead. Is that the letter you refer to?"