“But,” said Ralph, “I don’t understand. What is all the dreadful distress about?”
“Oh,” exclaimed his mother, “I thought you knew. Had you not heard of poor George. Archer’s illness?” Launched on which topic, she sailed away calmly for some minutes.
“And did she take the child with her?” asked Ralph, “the little boy—and the young lady, Miss Freer, did she go too? Are they going to India together?”
“I really don’t know,” said Lady Severn, “I forget, I’m sure, if little Charlie is to go. And as to Miss Freer, I know still less. She was a peculiar young woman, never even mentioned where her home was in England.”
“I always understood,” began Florence, but on Lady Severn’s pressing her to tell what she had “always understood,” she, to use a very charming schoolboy phrase “shut up,” and could not be prevailed on to say more. Murmuring something about “not liking to repeat gossip,” she rose gracefully from table, and the little party separated.
Later in the morning Ralph sauntered into the drawing-room where the two ladies were sitting.
“It is rather tiresome,” he said, “Mrs. Archer’s having left before I returned. I had something to send to her husband. I think my best way will be write to her at once and ask directions for sending it to her. Do you, happen to know her address?”
“Oh yes,” said his mother, unsuspiciously, “she gave it to me the last day I saw her. I gave it to you, Florence, my dear, but I remember it. I have a good head for addresses. It is—
Mrs. George Archer,
Care of Mrs. Archer, sen.,