“Haven’t you heard from her?”
“Not for six months or more. I innocently vexed her by writing a little too hopefully about Herbert. Mrs. Presty answered my letter, and recommended me not to write again. It isn’t like Catherine to bear malice.”
“Don’t even think such a thing possible!” the lawyer answered, earnestly. “Attribute her silence to the right cause. Terrible anxieties have been weighing on her mind since you went to America.”
“Anxieties caused by my brother? Oh, I hope not!”
“Caused entirely by your brother—if I must tell the truth. Can’t you guess how?”
“Is it the child? You don’t mean to tell me that Herbert has taken Kitty away from her mother!”
“While I am her mother’s lawyer, my friend, your brother won’t do that. Welcome back to England in the first glass of sherry; good wine, but a little too dry for my taste. No, we won’t talk of domestic troubles just yet. You shall hear all about it after dinner. What made you go to America? You haven’t been delivering lectures, have you?”
“I have been enjoying myself among the most hospitable people in the world.”
Mr. Sarrazin shook his head; he had a case of copyright in hand just then. “A people to be pitied,” he said.
“Why?”