"But these communications from Connell and Connell are not the less disgraceful," was the reply. "I'd as soon be annoyed with anonymous letters."
Miss Diana Trevlyn had not spoken. The affair, to her keen mind, began to wear a strange appearance. She looked up from the letter at Mr. Chattaway. "Were Connell and Connell not so respectable, I should say they have lent themselves to a sorry joke for the purpose of the worst sort of annoyance: being what they are, that view falls to the ground. There is only one possible solution to it: but——"
"And what's that?" eagerly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
"That Rupert is amusing himself, and has contrived to impose upon Connell and Connell——"
"He never has," broke in Mrs. Chattaway. "I mean," she more calmly added, "that Connell and Connell could not be imposed upon by any foolish claim put forth by a boy like Rupert."
"I wish you would hear me out," was the composed rejoinder of Miss Diana. "It is what I was about to say. Had Connell and Connell been different men, they might be so imposed upon; but I do not think they, or any firm of similar standing, would presume to write such letters to the master of Trevlyn Hold, unless they had substantial grounds for doing so."
"Then what can they mean?" cried Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot face.
Ay, what could they mean? It was indeed a puzzle, and the matter began to assume a serious form. What had been the vain boastings of Mr. Daw, compared with this? Cris Chattaway, when he reached home, and this second letter was shown to him, was loudly indignant, but all the indignation Mr. Chattaway had been prone to indulge in seemed to have gone out of him. Mr. Flood wrote to Connell and Connell to request an explanation, and received a courteous and immediate reply. But it contained no further information than the letters themselves—or than even Mr. Peterby had elicited when he wrote up, on his own part, privately to Mr. Ray: nothing but that Mr. Rupert Trevlyn was about to take possession of his own again, and occupy Trevlyn Hold.