"Did you send my letter, Graves?"
"Yes."
"Surely, by a safe hand?"
"I hope you don't think David's unsafe!" was the short reply.
"Graves, why are you so gloomy—like the day? Oh!" she said, turning to the window, which was blurred with a driving mist of rain—"oh! there ought to be sunshine everywhere to suit me to-day."
"There's not likely to be a ray of sun to-day. Bath folks say that if the weather once sets in like this, it goes on rain, rain——"
"Well, it can't last for ever—nothing does."
"No; that's true," said Graves.
Griselda now settled herself to her breakfast with the appetite of youth; and, as Graves left the room, she said:
"Bring the letter the instant it comes, Graves—the answer to my letter, I mean; or perhaps Mr. Travers may come himself."