"Not at home," was the dry response. "Is anything wrong here?"
"Oh! no."
He entered, took the door-handle from Sidney, and closed the door himself, turned the key in the lock, and drew the bolts to. Sidney Hinchford thought Mr. Wesden looked very nervous that evening—very different from his usual stolid way.
"You're quite sure—quite sure that it's all right, sir?" asked Sidney, his thoughts flashing to Harriet again.
"I said so; I never tell an untruth, Sidney. Good night"
"Good night, sir. Oh!" turning back, "the letter-paper, Mattie—I had forgotten."
Mr. Wesden watched the transfer of the writing paper from the drawer to Sidney Hinchford's hands, glanced furtively from Sidney to Mattie, gradually unwinding a woolen comforter from his neck meanwhile.
When Sidney had withdrawn, very much perplexed, but too dignified to ask any more questions, Mr. Wesden turned to Mattie.
"What's he doing down here at this time of night, Mattie?"
"He came for writing paper—he's very busy."