"Sir Nicholas is very poorly to-day, Miss"—I heard him say—"The Doctor won't let him out of bed—I wonder if you'd be so kind as to take down his letters—they are too much for him himself not being able to sit up—and I have not the time."
"Of course I will, Burton," her soft voice answered.
"I've put the table and everything ready—and I thank you kindly—" Burton went on—"I am glad to see you looking better, Miss."
I listened intently—It seemed as if I could hear her taking off her hat—and then she came into the room to me—but by that time my heart was beating so that I could not speak loud.
I said "good morning" in some half voice, and she answered the same—then she came forward to the table. Her dear little face was very pale and there was something pathetic in the droop of her lips—her hands, I noticed, were again not so red—.
"All the letters are there"—and I pointed to the pile—"It will be so good of you if you will do them now."
She took each one up and handed it to me without speaking and I dictated the answer.—I had had one from Suzette that morning thanking me for the villa—but I was clearly under the impression that I had put it with the one from Maurice and one from Daisy Ryven at the other side of the bed, so I had no anxiety about it—Then suddenly I saw Alathea's cheeks flame crimson and her mouth shut with a snap—and I realized that the irony of fate had fallen upon me again, and that she had picked up Suzette's lavender tinted, highly scented missive. She handed it to me without a word—.
The letter ended:
"Adieu Nicholas! tu es,
Toujours Mon Adoré
Ta Suzette."
but the way it was folded only showed "Toujours Mon Adoré—Ta Suzette"—and this much Alathea had certainly seen—.