Lady Chandos, dressed just as she had been the previous day—and I found it was her usual dress at all times—sat with her back to the window, her son facing her, I and Emily on either side. Breakfast was about half over when Hickens brought in some letters on a small silver waiter, presenting them to Mr. Chandos. I was soon to learn that all letters coming to the house, whether for servants or else, were invariably handed first of all to Mr. Chandos. One of these was directed to "Lady Chandos;" two to "Harry Chandos, Esquire;" the fourth to "Mrs. Chandos." Mr. Chandos put his mother's letter on the waiter again, and Hickens handed it to her. He then came back with the waiter to his master, who placed the other letter upon it.
"For Mrs. Chandos." And Hickens went out with it.
Who was Mrs. Chandos? I should have liked to ask, but dared not.
"Do you mean to say that there is no letter for me, Harry?" exclaimed Madame de Mellissie. "That's my punctual husband! He said he should be quite certain to send me a letter to-day."
"The French letters often come in later, Emily," remarked her brother.
He and Lady Chandos read their letters, Emily talked and laughed, and the meal came to an end. At its conclusion Mr. Chandos offered to go round the grounds with his sister.
"Yes, I'll go," she answered. "You can go also, Miss Hereford, if you like. But we must get our bonnets and parasols, first, Harry."
My bonnet and parasol were soon got, and I stood at my bedroom door, waiting for Emily. As she came down the gallery, the green-baize door on my right, leading to the east wing, opened, and a middle-aged lady appeared at it. Madame de Mellissie advanced and cordially saluted her.
"I should have paid you a visit yesterday, Mrs. Freeman, but that I heard Mrs. Chandos was ill."
"You are very kind, madam," was the lady's reply. "Mrs. Chandos was exceedingly unwell yesterday, but she is better to-day. She——"