"What does he want the ink for? Tell me?"
"There's a letter—a thick, registered letter—seemingly a very important one, and the receipt had to be signed."
She wondered why the mocking smile died so suddenly from Doris' face—why she grew pale, and agitated, and unlike herself.
"I shall be down in one moment, Mattie," she said.
When she was left alone she clasped her hands together.
"It has come at last!" she said—"at last!"
It was ten minutes before she went down; then Mark had almost recovered from the effort he had made in signing the receipt—the postman had departed—and, like all simple-minded people, Mark and his wife were wondering from whom the letter had come, and what it was about. Doris listened quietly for a minute. Mattie was engaged in preparing tea for her sister. Then Doris said:
"Do you not think it would save all trouble and discussion if you opened the letter?"
Mark laughed sheepishly, and said:
"She is right, you know."