“No, Mr. Parker; she is with her friends, the Chetwynds. One of the girls is very ill, and the other won’t do without Leslie.”
“I’m not specially surprised at that,” said the merchant. “She seems the sort of girl one would rely on a good bit; but that is not what I have come about. See here, Llewellyn, have you got a letter of your sister’s handy?”
“A letter! What do you mean?” said Llewellyn,
“Just what I say. I want to see one of your sister’s letters.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Llewellyn.
“And I don’t want you to understand, my boy. I want you just to exercise a little bit of faith in your father’s old friend, and not to say a single word to your mother about this. Now, go and find some letters of your sister’s. When you have found them, I want you
to put a couple of them into my care. If they contain any secrets you may trust me not to blab; but this is a serious matter, and there is more in it than meets the eye. There, my boy, just do what you are told.”
“Of course I have got several of Leslie’s letters,” answered Llewellyn. “I think there are a few which do not contain anything of a private nature. I will give you one or two, sir, with pleasure.”
Llewellyn left the room, returning presently with a packet of letters kept together with an elastic band.
“There,” he said, “you can have them all, sir. I have not even looked at them. Leslie is as open as the day, and there is nothing in her letters that you may not see.”