Ella turned to her with what was intended to be a smile, but failed disastrously.
“I—I was only startled,” the poor child said at last, with a painful sort of gasp.
Mrs Burton grew more and more alarmed. She glanced round; there was a bench a few paces off.
“Let us sit down for a minute or two,” she said. “It is cold. But you must rest and recover yourself. Read your letter quietly. I won’t speak to you till you feel all right again.”
She had fortunately some eau de Cologne in her pocket, by the help of which and a few minutes of perfect quiet, Ella mastered her agitation. Then she opened the letter.
She had read but a few lines when a change came over her face, first a look of bewilderment which increased as she read, then a curious, half-fearful questioning appeared in her eyes, to be followed by a flush of eager, yet tremulous joy.
“Aunty,” she said breathlessly, “please look at it,” and she held out the letter, “am I making some strange mistake? I feel as if I were dreaming. Aunty—let me see your letter—do they tell you too who it is? Is it true—is it not Sir Philip that Ermine is going to marry?”
Mrs Burton glanced at her niece in astonishment, astonishment which soon changed to keen concern and sympathy as she understood Ella’s anxiety. She had plenty of good sense and ready wit however.
“Ella shall never know I have discovered her secret,” was the thought that flashed through her mind.
“Not Sir Philip,” she repeated, “why of course not—I never thought of him for either of your sisters. He has been far too much like a brother to them always.”