"Poor child," he said briefly. "I hope you'll always think I was good to you."
And he went out of the house whistling to himself.
*****
"What shocking writing!" said Lady Henrietta, "and how blotted! Who's your illiterate correspondent?"
Barnaby had stuffed his letter into his breast-pocket as he walked across the room.
"Julia," he said shortly.
As if upon second thoughts, he felt for it again, pulled it out, and tossed it into the fire. Its agitated, irregular lines started out black on the burning pages. Susan, who was sitting on the velvet curb, turned away her face that she might not read.
Lady Henrietta, frail but indomitable, throned upon her sofa, eyed her son jealously.
"How did she know so quickly?" she asked.
"She heard it from somebody, I suppose," said Barnaby. "Why, mother, do you imagine a real live ghost can visit Leicestershire without the whole county hearing? ... She wants me to go over and show myself."