"Oh, yes, Miss," protested Susan gratefully. And when I did not speak, she glanced coyly towards a second loaded envelope which had been lying on the table beside Lord Ruddington's.
"What!" I said. "Surely there isn't another letter, is there?"
"No, Miss. It's only mine--the letter I nearly posted in answer."
"Show it to me--that is, of course, if you want me to see it."
Susan pulled out a folded sheet, opened it, and laid it on my knee.
The first thing about the document that struck me was the fact that it represented a prodigal consumption of ink. In the ordinary course, Susan doesn't write very badly. But, in answering Lord Ruddington, she had formed the characters slowly and hugely and singly, as a child does at school. In two places it was evident that sandpaper or a penknife had removed blots. Altogether it was the sort of handwriting in which one might have expected the milkman to declare to the kitchen-maid,
"The rose is red, the violet's blue,
Honey is sweet, and so are you."
Susan's answer ran:--
Care of the Honourable Miss Langley,
THE GRANGE,
TRAXELBY, September 6, 1906.
SIR,--It was with the most various and lively emotions that I perused your Letter to which I am now endeavouring, though imperfectly, to reply.