“It was frightful!” said Freda, her eyes dilating. “I never heard a word about it. Does Lawrence know?”
“No, he does not; and perhaps I ought not to have told you, but I was annoyed at your so misunderstanding Derrick. Pray never mention the affair; he would wish it kept perfectly quiet.”
“Why?” asked Freda, turning her clear eyes full upon mine.
“Because,” I said, lowering my voice, “because his father burnt it.”
She almost gasped.
“Deliberately?”
“Yes, deliberately,” I replied. “His illness has affected his temper, and he is sometimes hardly responsible for his actions.”
“Oh, I knew that he was irritable and hasty, and that Derrick annoyed him. Lawrence told me that, long ago,” said Freda. “But that he should have done such a thing as that! It is horrible! Poor Derrick, how sorry I am for him. I hope we shall see something of them at Bath. Do you know how the Major is?”
“I had a letter about him from Derrick only this evening,” I replied; “if you care to see it, I will show it you later on.”
And by-and-by, in the drawing-room, I put Derrick’s letter into her hands, and explained to her how for a few months he had given up his life at Bath, in despair, but now had returned.