Constance was in a high fever. Bromley found a letter on his table. He opened it. It was but a few lines.
“My dear Friend,—The family is that of Sir J. Coxe, Bart., M.P., the banker. Her ladyship owes about £2000; her daughter Constance about £900. The rest of the news I hope to obtain in a day or two.—Yours very sincerely,
“K. M.”
A paper fluttered forth and fell to the ground. Bromley picked it up. It was folded, flimsy as a bank-note. He opened it. It was headed with the image and superscription of Madame Mélanie. Below were items representing a total of £27, 4s. 8d.
CHAPTER XV.
“Hear, hear! Well, you’ve not lost much time, Mr Bromley,” said the doctor, as Bromley entered the room where he was resuming his interrupted meal.
“How have you found Miss Constance?”
“I can say nothing till to-morrow. However, I do not think there is much to fear. Lady Coxe will do all I tell her. I gave her a quietus, by informing her I knew of all her difficulties. It rather relieved her, I think. Experimentum periculosum. It succeeded, however.”
“One glass of wine? Lætificat cor hominis.”
“Thank you, I have not yet dined.”