"Forgive me, Ellen," he murmured. "I am not a bear in general. Goodbye."
As they stood, her hand in his, her flushed face downcast, Mrs. North's open carriage rolled past. Madam's head was suddenly propelled towards them as far as safety permitted: her eyes glared: a stony horror sat on her countenance.
"Shameful! Disgraceful!" hissed madam. And Miss Matilda North, by her side, started up to see what the shame might be.
Arthur Bohun had caught the words--not Ellen--and bit his lips in a complication of feeling.
But all he did was to raise his hat--first to his mother, then to Ellen--as he went out at the gate. Madam flung herself back in her seat, and the carriage pursued its course up the Ham.
[CHAPTER IV.]
THREE LETTERS FOR DR. RANE
"You are keeping quality hours, Bessy--as our nurse used to say when we were children," was Richard North's salutation to his sister as he went in and saw the table laid for breakfast.
Mrs. Rane laughed. She was busy at work, sewing some buttons on a white waistcoat of her husband's.
"Oliver was called out at seven this morning, and has not come back yet," she explained.