‘What was it, Phil?’ asked Maud eagerly. ‘What had old Uncle Maynard written there?’
‘I don’t know, Maud. I had never unfolded the paper. It never occurred to me that there was writing on the inside.’
‘No,’ said Maud slowly. ‘I don’t suppose it did. Men are never curious, and there isn’t anything to make anyone turn over. I wonder what it was. Something important, of course, or Aunt Celia would not have troubled to run a risk for it.’
All three faces were grave. Tor felt that through an unconscious blunder of his, some distinct damage might have been done to Phil, though how or why he could not tell. It was not easy to see what harm could ensue from neglect of a few pencilled words—added quite as an afterthought to the letter; but at the same time, Mrs. Belassis’ conduct had made it evident that importance did attach to them; and Tor was disturbed at this discovery.
It was useless, however, to try to conjecture what the last message could have been, and lamentations over the casualty were equally purposeless. Tor had some dim hope that he might surprise the truth from one or other of the Belassis’ at some later date, but at present silence was their only course.
Maud talked herself sleepy, and went to bed; Mrs. Lorraine was about to follow her example, when Tor asked her to remain a little while longer, as he had something of importance he wished to say to her.
The gentle little widow looked half surprised at this announcement, for nobody since her husband’s death had ever cared to discuss matters of importance with her; but she assented readily, and settled herself once more in her chair.
‘Well, dear boy?’
‘I want to ask you what you know about Alfred Belassis—of his early life, I mean. You have always lived in this neighbourhood, have you not? You know as much of the family history as anyone.’
‘Yes, I suppose I do; but I do not know anything of Alfred Belassis’ early life. I never saw him until a few years before he married Celia.’