“And have you no tidings of him?” said L'Estrange, in the same low tone; for, although the girls were in eager talk together, he was afraid Julia might overhear what was said.
“None, except that he sailed from China on board an American clipper for Smyrna, and I am now waiting for news from the consul there, to whom I have written, enclosing a letter for him.”
“And he is serving as a sailor?”
Bramleigh nodded.
“What is the mysterious conversation going on there?” said Julia. “How grave George looks, and Mr. Bramleigh seems overwhelmed with a secret of importance.”
“I guess it,” said Nelly, laughing. “Your brother is relating your interview with Sir Marcus Cluff, and they are speculating on what is to come of it.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” cried L'Estrange, suddenly, “Sir Marcus's servant brought me a letter just as I was dressing for dinner. Here it is. What a splendid seal—supporters too! Have I permission to read?”
“Read, read by all means,” cried Julia.
“'Dear Sir,—If I could have sufficiently conquered my bronchitis as to have ventured out this morning, I would have made you my personal apologies for not having received you last night when you did me the honor to call, as well as opened to you by word of mouth what I am now reduced to convey by pen.'”
“He is just as prolix as when he talks,” said Julia.