‘Confound the flies!’ exclaimed Captain Bowood irascibly to no one in particular, as he gave his bald head a sounding smack. ‘Eh now?’ he quoth inquiringly as he looked at the palm of his hand. ‘No.’
‘I wonder what can have become of Mr Boyd?’ went on Mrs Bowood. ‘He left the house early this morning, and has not been seen since.’
The movements of Mr Boyd in nowise interested Sir Frederick, but politeness demanded that he should say something. ‘Gone for an early ramble, probably, before the day gets too warm.’
‘I am dying to find out the writer of that anonymous letter.’
The Baronet coughed, and cut another page of his review.
‘Aunty Laura, what is the matter with you?’
The question came so suddenly that Lady Dimsdale could not repress a slight start. ‘The matter, dear?’ she asked inconsequentially.
‘You stop in the middle of a stitch, and then you put a finger to your lips, and then for a minute you seem as if you saw nothing. And you look so sad. Have you got the toothache, aunty?’
‘Yes, dear, as you say—the toothache.’
‘I am so sorry!’