“Miss Carton. I have not written to her.”
She tapped impatiently with her foot.
“They were really old companions—that is all,” said Mrs. Sherman, wishing to mend matters. “They were both readers; that brought them together. I never much fancied her. Yet she was well enough as a friend, and helped, maybe, with reading, and the gardening, and his good bringing-up, to keep him from the idle young men of the neighbourhood.”
“You must make him write and tell her at once—you must, you must!” almost sobbed out Miss Leland.
“I promise,” he answered.
Immediately returning to herself, she cried, “If I were in her place I know what I would like to do when I got the letter. I know who I would like to kill!”—this with a laugh as she went over, and looked at herself in the mirror over the mantlepiece.
