"Oh, no, Miss," said Susan hurriedly. "It isn't any of the young gentlemen that's doing the painting and decorating."
"Whoever he is," I answered, "he makes himself at home with Lord Ruddington's best stationery. Let me see."
I turned over the sheet and looked for the signature. Half-way down the third page I found it. The writer had signed himself with the single word "Ruddington."
"Susan," I demanded almost roughly, "why didn't you tell me about this at once?"
"If you please, Miss----"
"There's no if you please about it. Why, this creature, whoever he may be, is pretending to be Lord Ruddington."
Susan burst out crying, suddenly and copiously.
"Oh, Miss Gertrude," she sobbed; "I--I never thought it was pretending. I never dreamed any one could be so cruel. I thought it was real."
As I had begun to read the letter, I didn't take much notice. But Susan sobbed and talked on.
"Oh, Miss," she moaned, "to think I was nearly going to post the answer! I should never have been able to look the parish in the face again."