CHAPTER IV.
WILD OATS.
ere, Maud—here is old Uncle Maynard’s letter, if you want to read it!’
So said Tor, as he entered the drawing-room, after his visit to Thornton House; and Maud started up with an exclamation of pleasure at seeing him again so soon. When she took in the drift of his remark, her eyes opened wide with surprise.
‘The letter, Phil? Had Aunt Celia got it, then?’
‘Yes; she had borrowed it to show to her precious husband. She found it amongst my writing-paper, she says.’
‘That’s a lie,’ said Maud, with the frankness of her nature; ‘for I tidied out that drawer the day you went to Whitbury.’
‘And I left the paper locked up that same day,’ added Tor, smiling. ‘Aunt Celia must have a vivid imagination.’
‘Did you tell her she was lying?’ asked Maud eagerly. ‘I mean, did you say that it was in the locked drawer?’
‘There was no need to say very much. Mrs. Belassis is not dense. She quite understood me. It is better to avoid saying disagreeable things, when meaning them does as well.’