‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Edmonstone, ‘the question is what to do next—eh, Philip?’ I wish he would have spoken openly. I hate mysteries. I’ll write and tell him this won’t do; he must be explicit—eh, Philip?’
‘We will talk it over by and by,’ said Philip.
His aunt understood that it was to be in her absence, and left the room, fearing it would be impossible to prevent Amy from being distressed, though she had no doubt that Guy would be able to prove his innocence of the charges. She found Amy waiting for her in her room.
‘Don’t, ring, mamma, dear. I’ll fasten your dress,’ said she; then pausing—‘Oh! mamma, I don’t know whether I ought to ask, but if you would only tell me if there is nothing gone wrong.’
‘I don’t believe there is anything really wrong, my dear,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, kissing her, as she saw how her colour first deepened and then faded.
‘Oh! no,’ said she.
‘But there is some mystery about his money-matters, which has vexed your papa.’
‘And what has Philip to do with it?’
‘I cannot quite tell, my dear. I believe Margaret Henley has heard something, but I do not know the whole.’
‘Did you see his letter, mamma? said Amy, in a low, trembling voice.