“My turn now, Frank,” said Andrew merrily; “but who’s going to write to me?”
To his annoyance, as he turned to take the note, the man handed it to Frank and left the antechamber.
“Well, you seem to be somebody,” cried Andrew, who now looked nettled.
“From my mother,” said Frank, after glancing through the missive.
“Lucky you; mother and father both here. My poor father nowhere, hiding about like a thief. Talk about friends at court!”
“It does seem hard for you,” said Frank. “See what she says.”
“H’m! ‘So sorry not to be able to speak to you yesterday. Come to my rooms for an hour before the reception this afternoon. I long to see you, my dear boy.’”
Andrew handed back the letter with a sigh.
“Lucky you, Frank. I say, don’t repeat what I said about yesterday.”
“Of course not.”