"Pay for anything and everything, Hickens," was her answer. "I have brought no money with me, to speak of. I ran away."
"Emily, how can you?" exclaimed Mr. Chandos, as the man withdrew.
"Rubbish! Who's Hickens? Pauline's sure to tell him all about it. I repeat to you, Harry, that you need not preach to me: you have more need to reform your own acts and doings. The letter I received was about you; and, from what it said, I began to think it high time that I should be at Chandos."
"Indeed!" he quietly answered. "Pray who may have taken the trouble to write it?"
"That is what I cannot tell you. It was anonymous."
Mr. Chandos curled his lip. "There is only one thing to do with an anonymous letter, Emily—put it in the fire, with a thought of pity for its miserable writer, and then forget it for ever. We have been dealing in anonymous letters here, lately. I received one; and the inspector of police at Warsall received one, falsely purporting to be from me. The result was that a descent of mounted police came swooping upon us one night with sabres, drawn or undrawn, frightening sober Chandos out of its propriety."
"I never heard of such a thing!" exclaimed Madame de Mellissie, her interest momentarily diverted from her own grievances. "What did they want?"
"The inspector was led to believe I required them to take somebody into custody for theft. I assure you anonymous letters have been the fashion here lately. But they are not the less despicable."
"Shall I tell you what was in mine?"
"I do not wish to hear it."