The effect of this pronouncement was startling. The Major gave a roar like that of a baffled bull; Cedric’s laughter was cut short; and Sir Richard let his eyeglass fall.
“I knew it! Oh, I knew it!” raged the Major. “Now, sir!”
Sir Richard recovered himself swiftly. “Pray do not be absurd, sir!” he said, with more asperity than Cedric ever remembered to have heard in his voice before. “My cousin has in all probability stepped out to enjoy the air. He is an early riser.”
“If you please, sir, the young gentleman has taken his cloak-bag with him.”
The Major seemed to be having considerable difficulty in holding his fury within bounds. Cedric, observing his gobblings with a sapient eye, begged him to be careful. “I knew a man once who got into just such a taking. He burst a blood-vessel. True as I sit here!”
The maid-servant, upon whom the Honourable Cedric’s charm of manner had not fallen unappreciated, smothered a giggle, and twisted one corner of her apron into a screw. “There was a letter for your honour upon the mantelshelf when I did the room out,” she volunteered.
Sir Richard swung round on his heel, and went to the fireplace. Pen’s note, which she had propped up against the clock, had fallen down, and so missed his eye. He picked it up, a little pale of countenance, and retired with it to the window.
“My dear Richard,” Pen had written. “This is to say goodbye to you, and to thank you very much for all your kindness. I have made up my mind to return to Aunt Almeria, for the notion of our being obliged to marry is preposterous. I shall tell her some tale that will satisfy her. Dear sir, it was truly a splendid adventure. Your very obliged servant, Penelope Creed.
“P.S. I will send back your cravats and the cloak-bag, and indeed I thank you, dear Richard.”
Cedric, watching his friend’s rigid face, dragged himself out of his chair, and lounged across to lay a hand on Sir Richard’s shoulder. “Ricky, dear boy! Now, what is it?”