CHAPTER XII. THE LETTER FROM PARIS.
IT is the morning after the Derby Day, and Sir Richard, who has never had a shilling upon that national event, yet reads with interest the prose-poem upon the subject in the Times, over the breakfast-table, and even favours Letty—which is so unusual a piece of graciousness, that it almost suggests the idea of making amends for something—with extracts from the same, aloud. He and his sister are alone at the morning meal, for my Lady, as is often the case now, has had her tea and dry toast sent up to her in her own room, as also a couple of letters—one from Arthur Haldane, and one with the Paris post-mark, and in a foreign hand.
“Lord Stonart is said to have netted forty thousand pounds: just think of that, Letty.”
“Yes, Richard; but then think of the poor people that lost it.”
“Poor people should not bet,” returned the baronet severely. “I am sorry for Mr Chifney, since, if he had not quarrelled with his Lordship, the winner would have come out of his stables. As it was, he very nearly accomplished it with that French horse Menclaus—a success which I should, as an Englishman, have much deplored.”
“Dear me! was not that the horse in which Walter was so much interested?”
“I am sure I don't know, Letty. I should think my brother had no money to spare for the race-course, under present circumstances: he could surely never be such a fool.”
“Very likely not, Richard. I never said a word about his risking money; I only said he was 'interested.'”
“Ah!” rejoined the baronet significantly, “I dare say;” and then he began to whistle, as was not unusual with him when thoroughly displeased. Presently, however, recollecting that this was not a sociable sort of thing to do, Sir Richard abruptly observed: “Mamma had a letter from Paris this morning, and in a foreign hand; I wonder who her correspondent is. I do not think she has heard from abroad since immediately after our poor father's death. Then I remember several of her old French friends wrote to her.”
“I hope it is no ill news of any kind, for I am getting quite anxious about dear mamma, Richard. Ever since Christmas last, she has seemed to get more and more depressed.”