“Your affectionate uncle,
“Godfrey Berkeley.”
As Philip stood on one side of the breakfast-table reading this letter, Susan Corson stood on the other, gazing steadfastly at him.
“Well,” said she, “where has he gone? and when is he coming back?”
“Those are two things he doesn’t mention,” said Philip. “And I haven’t any idea what it all means.”
“Well, what does he say?” asked Susan, a little sharply. “He surely must have told you something.”
Susan Corson was a middle-aged little woman, who thought a good deal of Mr. Godfrey Berkeley and a good deal of herself, and who had had, so far, no great objections to Philip, although, as a rule, she did not take any particular interest in boys.
“I will read you the letter,” said Philip.
And he read it to her from beginning to end, omitting here and there a passage relating to himself and his uncle’s trust in him.
For a few minutes Susan did not say a word, and Philip also stood silent, looking down at the letter he held and thinking very hard.
“And while he is gone you are to be master here?” said the housekeeper.