Looking to right and left, stood madam, her thoughts busy. Where could Arthur be? Why had he left London?
"Do you know?" she roughly asked of Mr. North.
"Know what, madam?"
"Where Arthur Bohun is."
Mr. North stared a little. "Why, how should I know?" he asked. "It's ever so long since Arthur wrote to me. He sends me messages when he writes to Dick."
Madam swept into the drawing-room. She took the letter from the mantelpiece, and coolly broke its black seal. Even Matilda's scruples were aroused at this.
"Oh, mamma, don't!" she exclaimed, starting up and putting her hand over the letter. "Don't open that. It would not be right."
Madam dexterously twitched the letter away, carried it to the window and read it from end to end. Matilda saw her face turn ghastly through its paint, as if with fright.
"Serves her right," thought the young lady. "Mamma, what is amiss?"
Madam crumpled the letter into a ball in her agitated hand: but no answer came from her white lips. Turning abruptly up the stairs, she locked herself into her chamber.