"Well, they aren't. Mr. Chopping and the policeman are in bed. So it was a letter? And how about the letter your father gave you to post?"
"I never gave her a letter," put in Mr. French.
"I only made it up," said Effie. "Father never gave me anything. It was only my letter to Cousin Dick."
"Your what?" said French, who had taken his seat on the end of the bed, and was now holding the flat candlestick so that the candle-light showed up Effie with Rembrandtesque effect.
"I wrote to make an April fool of him."
"What did you say?" asked French; and there was a tension in his voice unperceived by his daughter, but very evident to Miss Grimshaw, and even to Norah and Mrs. Driscoll, who were listening outside.
"I only said 'April fool,'" replied Effie, who had passed now into the sniffling stage, a wan smile lighting up her countenance.
"Did you put any address on the paper?"
"No. You remember, when I wrote to him last year on the 1st of April, and you said I ought to put 'April ass'? Well, I put 'April fool' just the same as then."
"He'll know her writing," groaned French, speaking aloud, yet to himself. Then, as if fearing to trust himself to speak to the child, he turned and told the servants in the passage to be gone to their beds.