“London, Thursday.
“Dear old Betty,
“I am writing to you for papa, who is very poorly indeed. Should Colonel Letsom apply to you for our address here, you are to give it him: papa wishes him to have it. We hope your wrist is better.
“Coralie Fontaine.”
Betty Huntsman, honest herself, never supposed but the letter was written by Miss Fontaine. By-and-by, there came a ring at the bell.
“My uncle, Colonel Letsom, requested me to call here this morning, as I was passing on my way to Timberdale Rectory,” began Mr. Pym; for it was he who rang, and by his authoritative voice and lordly manner, one might have thought he was on board a royal frigate, commanding a cargo of refractory soldiers.
“Yes, sir!” answered Betty, dropping a curtsy.
“Colonel Letsom wants your master’s address in London—if you can give it him. He has to write to Sir Dace to-day.”
Betty produced a card from her innermost pocket, and showed it to Mr. Pym: who carefully copied down the address.