"Did you notice a letter addressed to the Times office?"
The servant had prepared himself to cogitate. But he found it unnecessary. "Yes, sir," he replied smartly, "Two."
"Two?" repeated Mr. Stafford, dismay in his tone, though this was just what he had reason to expect.
"Yes, sir. There was one I took from the band-box, and one Mr. Atley gave me in the hall at the last moment," explained the butler.
"Ha! Thank you, Marcus. Then ask Mr. Atley if he will kindly come to me. No doubt he will be able to tell me what I want to know."
The words were commonplace, but the speaker's anxiety was so evident that Marcus when he delivered the message—which he did with all haste—added a word or two of warning. "It is about a letter to the Times, sir, I think. Mr. Stafford seemed a good deal put out," he said, confidentially.
"Indeed?" Atley replied. "I will go down." And he started at once. But before he reached the library he met someone. Lady Betty looked out of the breakfast-room, and saw him descending the stairs with the butler behind him.
"Where is Mr. Stafford, Marcus?" she asked impatiently, as she stood with her hand on the door. "Good morning, Mr. Atley," she added, her eyes descending to him. "Where is my husband? The coffee is getting quite cold."
"He has just sent to ask me to come to him," Atley answered. "Marcus tells me there is something in the Times which has annoyed him, Lady Betty; I will send him up as quickly as I can."
But Lady Betty had not stayed to receive this last assurance. She had drawn back and shut the door smartly; yet not so quickly but that the private secretary had seen her change color. "Umph!" he ejaculated to himself—the lady was not much given to blushing as a rule—"I wonder what is wrong with HER this morning. She is not generally rude to me."