The tea had time to get cold, instead of cool, for he stayed a long while in the west wing. He seemed very tired; did not talk much, and said good-night early.
It must have been getting on for eleven o'clock the next morning. Mr. Chandos had been asking me to sew a button on his glove. "They are always coming off," he cried, as he watched my fingers. "My belief is, they are just pitched on to the gloves, and left there. I have heard Harriet say the same; she sews them on in general."
"Why did you not give her this one?" I had been laughing, and was in high spirits; and until the words were out, it did not strike me that it was not quite the right thing for me to say, even in joke.
"Because I best like you to do it."
"There it is, sir. Are there any more?"
If there were, he had no time to give them me. A sharp decisive knock at the room door, and Mrs. Penn came in, looking pale and angry.
She has been coming to a rupture with Mrs. Chandos, thought I. But I was wrong.
It appeared, by what she began to say, that she had left, unintentionally, the small bag, or reticule as she called it, in my room the previous evening, and had not thought of it until just now. Upon sending one of the maids for it, she found it had been opened.
"Mrs. Penn!" I exclaimed.
"It's quite true, she rejoined, almost vehemently, as she held out the bag. Do you remember seeing me put the letter in the bag, Miss Hereford? The letter I was too late to send away?"