She could,
however, in case of personal need, resort to Davis as desired by him.
So she got out her desk in the drawing-room and sat down and wrote
her letter. It was difficult, though she found that it hardly took so
long as she expected. It was difficult, for she felt bound to tell
him the truth; and yet she was anxious not to spoil all his pleasure
among his friends. She told him, however, that Lady Lufton was very
angry, "unreasonably angry, I must say," she put in, in order to
show that she had not sided against him. "And, indeed, we have quite
quarrelled, and this has made me unhappy, as it will you, dearest; I
know that. But we both know how good she is at heart, and Justinia
thinks that she had other things to trouble her; and I hope it will
all be made up before you come home; only, dearest Mark, pray do not
be longer than you said in your last letter." And then there were
three or four paragraphs about the babies, and two about the schools,
which I may as well omit. She had just finished her letter, and was
carefully folding it for its envelope, with the two whole five-pound
notes imprudently placed within it, when she heard a footstep on the
gravel path which led up from a small wicket to the front door. The
path ran near the drawing-room window, and she was just in time
to catch a glimpse of the last fold of a passing cloak.
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