"Why," said Mary, "of course I do: to soothe his wounded feelings."
"Soothe his feelings!" cried Julia, scornfully; "and how about mine? No; the only thing I want it for now is to fling it in his face. His soul is as small as his body: he's a little, mean, suspicious, jealous fellow, and I'm very glad to have lost him." She flounced off all on fire, looking six feet high, and got quite out of sight before she began to cry.
Then the truth came out. Mary, absorbed in conjugal bliss, had left it at the hotel by the lakes. She told Walter.
"Oh, hang it!" said Walter; "that's unlucky; you will never see it again."
"Oh yes, I shall," said Mary; "they are very honest people at that inn; and I have written about it, and told them to keep it safe, unless they have an opportunity of sending it."
Walter reflected a moment. "Take my advice, Mary," said he. "Let me gallop off this afternoon and get it."
"Oh yes, Walter," said Mary. "Thank you so much. That will be the best way."
At this moment loud and angry voices were heard coming round the corner, and Mary uttered a cry of dismay, for her discriminating ear recognized both those voices in a moment. She clutched Walter's shoulder.
"Oh, Walter, it's your father and mine quarrelling. How unfortunate that they should have met! What shall we do?"
"Hide in Hope's office. The French window is open."