egret in her cynical old heart. "She likes
him better than she knows, and far better than I thought she did!" she
said to herself, as she watched the still light, still singularly
graceful-looking figure hurrying away towards the house.

As for Mrs. Otway, she felt oppressed, and yes, a little pained, by the
old lady's confidence. That what she had just been told might not be
true did not occur to her. What more natural than that Major Guthrie
should like a nice girl--one, too, who was, it seemed, half Scotch? The
Trepells were probably in London even now--she had seen it mentioned in
a paper that every one was still staying on in town. If so, Major
Guthrie was doubtless constantly in their company; and the letter she
had so--well, not exactly longed for, but certainly expected, might even
now be lying on the table in the hall of the Trellis House, informing
her of his engagement!

She remembered now what she had heard of the Trepells. It concerned the
great, the almost limitless, wealth brought in by their wonderful
polish. She found it difficult to think of Major Guthrie as a very rich
man. Of course, he would always remain, what he was now, a quiet,
unassuming gentleman; but all the same, she, Mary Otway, did feel that
somehow this piece of news made it impossible for her to accept the loan
he had so kindly and so delicately forced on her.

Mrs. Otway had a lively, a too lively, imagination, and it seemed to her
as if it was Miss Trepell's money which lay in the envelope now locked
away in her writing-table drawer. Indeed, had she known exactly where
Major Guthrie was just now, she would have returned it to him. But
supposing he had already started for France, and the registered letter
came back and was opened by his mother--how dreadful that would be!

When she reached home, and walked through into her cool, quiet house,
Mrs. Otway was quite surprised to find that there was no letter from
Major Guthrie lying for her on the hall table.

CHAPTER XV

Rose Otway ran up to her room and locked the door. She had fled there to
read her first love-letter.

"MY DARLING ROSE,--This is only to tell you that I love you. I
have been writing letters to you in my heart ever since I went
away. But this is the first moment I have been able to put one
down on paper. Father and mother never leave me--that sounds
absurd, but it's true. If father isn't there, then mother is.
Mother comes into