"Why, I'd just as lief say 'Miss,' but she's a mill girl, same as my own sister. I didn't go to mean no harm."
The mill owner winced. Then inquired:—
"Is there an answer expected?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Wait here."
The master of Fairacres limped into the adjoining room and turned his back toward the door between, hiding his face from the lad's observation as he read.
"Humph! She left it open, which is correct enough with reliable messengers. Probably, though, he had the curiosity to read what she had to say,"—in which he wholly wronged the bearer. But Mr. Wingate had yet to learn that even lads who attire themselves atrociously may still be true gentlemen at heart, and sin in taste through ignorance only.
This was the note:—
"Dear Cousin Archibald Wingate: My father and Hallam will be very happy to have thee dine with us to-morrow, Christmas Day. Cleena says that dinner will be served at three o'clock. If thee knew her as well as I do, thee would understand that she means not a minute before nor one afterward. If thee pleases, I would rather not have any 'business' talk of any sort to-morrow. I would like it to be a day of peace, as my mother always kept it for us. Thee may meet some other guests, but we will try to make thee happy.