“You must draw your own conclusions, dear madam.”
“I know it was to mail that letter! And I will put on my bonnet and drive over to the post office, and demand of the postmaster to whom the letter mailed last night by the negro Forrest was directed! There’s not so many letters go to that little office but what he will be able to recollect!” exclaimed Mrs. Houston, angrily.
“Oh, God!”
The words breathed forth possessed so much of prayerful woe that the little lady half started, and turned back to see Margaret grow pale and sink upon the corner of the hall settee.
Mrs. Houston hesitated between her curiosity and anger on the one hand, and her pity on the other. Finally she made a compromise. Coming to Margaret’s side, she said:
“Maggie, I am treated abominably, standing as I do in your mother’s place toward you, and being as I am your guardian—abominably! Now I am sure I do not wish to pry into your correspondence, unless it is an improper one.”
“Mrs. Houston, my mother’s daughter could not have an improper correspondence, as you should be the first to feel assured.”
“Yet, Margaret, as it appears to me, if this correspondence were proper, you would not be so solicitous to conceal it from me.”
It occurred to Margaret to reply, “Mrs. Houston, suppose that I were writing sentimental letters to a female friend, which might not be really wrong, yet which I should not like to expose to your ridicule, would I not, in such a case, even though it were a proper correspondence, be solicitous to conceal it from you?”—but her exact truthfulness prevented her from putting this supposititious case, and as she did not in any other manner reply, Mrs. Houston continued:
“So you see, Margaret, that you force me to investigate this matter, and I shall, therefore, immediately after breakfast, proceed to the village to make inquiries at the post office.” And having announced this resolution, the lady, still struggling with her feelings of displeasure, left the hall.