I suppose this is the man speaking.
"No. I couldn't say where his lordship is likely to be found, I'm sure."
Oh, these people! These friends of the Honourable Jim's, who all seem to share his habit of melting into some landscape where they are not to be found! Never mind any of them, though. The question is, Miss Million! Where have they put her, among them? What have they done with my child-heiress of a mistress?
I had hoped to receive some explanation of the mystery by this morning's post. Nothing! Nothing but a sheaf of circulars and advertisements and catalogues for Miss Million, and one grey note for Miss Million's maid. It was addressed to "Miss Smith."
I sighed, half-resentfully, as I tore it open. Under any other circumstances it would have marked such a red-letter day in my life.
I knew what it was. The first love-letter I had ever received. Of course, from Mr. Reginald Brace. He writes from what used to be "Next Door," in Putney, S.W. He says:
My Dear Miss Lovelace:—I wanted to put 'Beatrice,' since I know that is your beautiful name, but I did not wish to offend you. I am afraid that I was much too precipitate to-night when I told you of the feeling I have had for you ever since I first saw you. As I told you, I know this is the greatest presumption on my part. Had it not been for the very exceptional circumstances I should not have ventured to say anything at all——"
Oh, dear! I wish this didn't remind me of the Honourable Jim's remark, "Curious idea, to put in a deaf-and-dumb chap as manager of a bank!" For he is really so good and straight and frank. I call this such a nice letter. Oh, dear, what am I to say to it?
"But as it is" (he goes on) "I could do nothing but take my chance and beg you to consider if you could possibly care for me a little. May I say that I adore you, and that the rest of my life should be given up to doing anything in the world to secure your happiness? Had I a sister——"
Good heavens! His non-existent sister is cropping up again!