"I am sure you do, madame," he replied, bowing. "I shall have the pleasure of calling upon you again, I hope, before long. As I knew Miss Britton it is natural for me to take an interest in her niece when in a foreign land. Your aunt, I suppose, is now in England?" he added casually to Barbara.
"Yes—staying with us for a day or two; but I hope she will come here before I go, and we could make an excursion on our way home."
"That would be pleasant for both, I am sure," Mr. Morton replied, taking a ceremonious leave of Mademoiselle Thérèse, and a simple, though warmer one of Barbara. The young man said little in parting, but as soon as they were in the street he laid his hand hurriedly on his uncle's arm.
"The girl is ill, uncle, I am sure of it; she is not like the same person I met before; and that Mademoiselle Thérèse would drive me crazy if I weren't feeling up to the mark."
"No doubt; what a tongue the woman has! But what do you want to do, Denys, for, of course, you have made up your mind to do something?"
Denys frowned. "Of course I don't want to seem interfering, but I won't say anything at home in case of frightening her mother. But——" he paused and looked up at his uncle—"do you think it would seem impertinent to write to the aunt? She might come a little sooner, perhaps, and, being at Mrs. Britton's, could use her judgment about telling her or not."
Mr. Morton pondered, his mind not wholly on the girl whom they had just left; then remembering his nephew he brought his thoughts down to the present. "I should risk the impertinence if I were you, Denys. But what about the address?"
"I know the village and the county," Denys said eagerly. "I should think that would find her. I will do it when I get back."
But it proved more difficult to write than he imagined, and it was some time before—having succeeded to his satisfaction—he brought the letter to his uncle for criticism. It ran thus:—
"DEAR MADAM,—I am afraid you may think it rather impertinent on my part to write to you, but I hope you will forgive that, and my apparent interference. I am Denys Morton, whom your niece met some time ago on the way to Dol, and, as my uncle and I were passing this way in returning from a little tour, we called on Miss Britton, and both thought her looking ill. The doctor here is, I believe, quite good, but Mademoiselle Thérèse, though doubtless a worthy lady, would, to me, be rather trying in time of illness. I should not write to you, but I fear Miss Britton will not, being unwilling to worry you or any of those at home. My uncle made a suggestion on the matter to Mademoiselle Thérèse, which was not very much liked by that lady, therefore he thought I might write you. He asks me—if you still remember him as a 'past acquaintance'—to give you his regards.