“Here is a billet-doux which has been left for you, Miss Christie. Now whom do you expect one from?”
“From nobody, Mr. Rayner,” said I, blushing very much.
This was not a story, because I knew the letter could not be at all the sort of communication he implied, but would contain, probably, some formal message from Mrs. Maitland.
I opened it at once to show that I did not think it of any consequence. It only said—
“Dear Miss Christie,—My sisters find there is so much to be done for the church that they are afraid they won’t be able to do it all. Would you be so very kind as to undertake part? If you would not mind, I will ride over with the work to-morrow after luncheon, about a quarter-past two. Yours sincerely, Laurence Reade.”
I think I was a little disappointed in the note; but it was all the better, as I could repeat in quite a careless way what it said; and then, just as I was wondering whether I should tear it up to show that I did not care, I saw that there was something written on the inside leaf, and I put it back into the envelope as if I did not notice what I was doing, and slipped it into my pocket.
Dinner was long that day; when it was over, I went into the schoolroom and drew out my letter again. The words on the inside leaf were—
“Why were you so unkind on Sunday?”
I had no way of sending back an answer; I could only wait till next day at a quarter-past two. But I think I could have sung through the lessons like the heroine of an opera that afternoon.
I had not thought it necessary to mention to Mr. Rayner the time at which Mr. Reade had said he should bring the work; at a quarter-past two we were always in the drawing-room all together. But the next day, the day of all others when it was important that I should stay and hear the explanations about the work I had to do, Mrs. Rayner asked me, directly after dinner, if I would mind writing some letters for her, to go by that afternoon’s post. I should have sat down to write them in the drawing-room, but Mrs. Rayner said—