“Certainly, miss.... Leave ’em up there w’en you’ve finished with ’em an’ I’ll take ’em w’en I brings the supper....” She took the scissors off the hook and handed them to Catherine.
“By the way,” said Catherine at the door, “post been yet?”
“Yes, miss. Nothink for you. Only a Hodson’s dripery circular—they’re always sendin’ ’em round.”
“Thanks!” replied Catherine nonchalantly, and went back to her sitting-room.
“Of course,” she told herself, regarding the scissors vacantly, “it’s almost impossible for him to have replied in time to reach me this evening. What with the Bank Holiday traffic and one thing and another....”
She pinned her hopes to Wednesday morning....
§ 3
On Wednesday morning she came downstairs early. The post came usually at seven-fifteen, and letters were as a rule by her plate when she came to breakfast at eight. Never before had the prospect of reading letters enticed her from bed before seven-forty-five. But this morning was beautiful and sunny, and she thought (as she lay in bed about a quarter past seven): “It is shameful to lie in bed on such a morning as this! I’ve a good mind to get up and have a stroll up the High Road before breakfast.”
She dressed and came downstairs to the basement sitting-room. As she turned the handle of the door her heart beat fast and she thought: “Another five seconds and I shall know! Another five seconds and——”
There was something by her plate! Only it was rather too bulky to be a private letter. But there was probably a letter hidden underneath it. She approached quickly and snatched it up.... Nothing!