Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

I saw his horse brought to the door in the course of the morning. In crossing the hall to go to it, he looked in at oak-parlour. I was mending gloves.

"Hard at work! Do you wear mended gloves?"

"Everybody is not Mr. Chandos of Chandos. Poor governesses have to wear many things that the gay world does not. And Mrs. Paler has not paid me."

"Shall I bring you some gloves home to-day?"

"Oh, no indeed; no, thank you, Mr. Chandos;" I answered, speaking and colouring much more vehemently than the occasion called for. "Are you going for a ride?"

"I am going to the police-station at Warsall, to endeavour to get a sight of that note."

"Who could have written it? It seems so useless a hoax to have played."

"Useless?—As it turned out, yes. But it strikes me the intention was neither harmless nor useless," he added, in a thoughtful tone.

"Shall you not institute an inquiry into it, Mr. Chandos?"

"No. I shall pick up what there may be to pick up in a quiet way; but I shall make no stir in it. I have my reasons. Good-bye, Anne. Mind you mend those gloves neatly."