“My dear, they were so kind; they could not help knowing!”
“But it can’t be.”
“Rachel, my child, you like him!”
“He does not know half about me yet. Mother, don’t tell Fanny or any one till I have seen him again.”
And the voice was so imperious with the wayward vehemence of illness that Mrs. Curtis durst not gainsay it. She did not know how Alick Keith was already silencing those who asked if he had heard of the great event at the Dean’s party. Still less did she guess at the letter at that moment in writing:—
“My Dear Bessie,—Wish me joy. I have gone in for the uncroquetable lawn, and won it.—Your affectionate brother’,
“A. C. Keith.”
CHAPTER XXIII. DEAR ALEXANDER.
“I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?”—Much Ado about Nothing.