It was the next day after this that Reggie Alston received a letter with the Old Keston post-mark, but after the first glance he laid it down indifferently. It was not from Gertrude.
After her birthday letter he had expected another pretty soon, because it had been like her old letters and she had apologised for its brevity, but none had come.
This was only from his aunt. She might, however, mention Gertrude! He opened it and glanced at the opening words. When was she to expect him for his holidays?
He sighed as he thought how long it was till the end of September, when he was to have his holiday. He had so hoped it would be arranged during the school vacation, but it had not been.
He turned the page of his aunt's epistle and then his face changed from listlessness to keen interest.
"I think," wrote his aunt, "that you cannot have heard that little Maud Brougham has been stolen. I thought Gertrude would of course write you all about it, but you did not mention it in your last letter to me, and perhaps, as Gertrude was to blame, she has not liked to write."
And then his aunt proceeded to tell Reggie all the story, and all the stories that had grown upon it. Perhaps in her delight in having so interesting a tale to tell, she forgot what such a story might mean to Reggie, for he had never made any secret of his whole-hearted devotion to Gertrude, but certainly she did not spare Gertrude, and to do Reggie's aunt justice, she fully believed most of the stories of flirtation and coquetry.
Gertrude had been very little to see her of late, and in the light of these tales, she naturally put her own interpretation on the neglect.
Reggie slept very little that night, and it was with a very pale face that he knocked at Mr. Gray's private door in the morning.
"Are you ill?" asked the Manager kindly.