"We'll wait for what's what until to-morrow," said Robert Raynes.
The next day Tilly was dressed. She had partaken of an excellent dinner prepared for her by Mary Ann, and a bright little fire burnt in her room. She was feeling still weak and tired. Her father came in and looked at her. She shrank away from him in a sort of terror.
"Oh, you are afraid of me, are you?" said the coal-merchant. "You have good cause to be. Read that!"
He passed Fergus Desmond's letter across the width of the little table and laid it in Tilly's hand.
"Take your time," he said, "I'm in no hurry."
He sat down deliberately and looked about him. Tilly could not see the letters at all at first from a queer sense of giddiness. She wished her father would go and leave her alone. But he sat quite calmly by the fire.
"You'll just have the goodness to read that quietly," he said. "I'm in no manner of hurry. Take it in, take it all in!"
By degrees Tilly did take it in. She raised terrified weak eyes to her father's face.
"Oh, daddy, daddy," she said. "Don't be angry with me. She's only a shopkeeper and they make such a fuss of her—and I—I'm so weak and miserable."