CHAPTER VIII.
“Faults past through love, flavour of its sweetness.”
About a week after Edmund’s hasty visit to Lodore, the postman’s knock was heard, and no servant appearing with letters, inquiries were made. A footman replied, that Mr. St. Aubin had been passing through the hall, and had taken the letters from the man. Henry was applied to; but disappointed the hopes of all by saying, there was but one, which was for himself. “It’s from Edmund,” he added carelessly.
“And what does he say?” inquired every one, at the same moment. “An order to join, I suppose?” added Frances.
“No,” he replied.
“You are very laconic, Henry!” observed Mrs. Montgomery.
“Why, really, ma’am—I—don’t know that it is quite fair to talk of young men’s love concerns. However, my amiable cousins, I believe, know all about it; whether they have thought fit to inform you, ma’am, or not. Indeed, you saw something of it yourself. It was a foolish affair from the first: I never thought it would answer.”
“What was a foolish affair?” asked Frances.