belonged to yourself. Will you kindly open this envelope
and tell me whether the paper contained in it is yours?"

Mr. Stretton took the envelope and opened it without a word. He looked
at the sheet, saw that one only was there, and then replied.

"I am much obliged to you for your kindness. Yes, this is part of the
letter that I lost."

"Only part? Indeed, I am sorry for that," said Hugo, with every
appearance of genuine interest. "I was first attracted towards it
because it looked like a foreign letter, and I saw that it was written
in Italian. On taking it up, I observed that it was addressed to a Mr.
Stretton, and I could think of no other Mr. Stretton in the
neighbourhood but yourself."

"I am much obliged to you," Mr. Stretton repeated.

"I hope you will find the rest of the letter," said Hugo, with rather a
mocking look in his beautiful eyes. "It is awkward sometimes to drop
one's correspondence. I need hardly say that it was safe in my
hands----"

"I am sure of that," said Mr. Stretton, mechanically.

"But others might have found it--and read it. I hope it was not an
important letter."

"I hope not," Mr. Stretton answered, recovering himself a little; "but
the fact is that I had read only the first page or two when I was
interrupted, and I must have dropped it instead of putting it into my
pocket."

"That was unfortunate," said Hugo. "I hope it contained no very
important communication. Good morning, Mr. Stretton; good morning to
you," he added, with a smile for the children. "I must not interrupt you
any longer."

He withdrew, with a feeling of contemptuous wonder at the carelessness
of a man who could lose a letter that he had never read. It was not the
kind of carelessness that he practised.

He did not leave the house without encountering Mrs. Heron and Kitty. He
was easily persuaded to stay for a little time. It cost him no effort to
make himself agreeable. He was like one of those sleek-coated animals of
the panther tribe, sufficiently tamed or tameable to like caresses; and
very few people recognised the latent ferocity that lay beneath the
velvet softness of those dreamy eyes. He could bask in the sunshine like
a cat; but he was only half-tamed after all.

Elizabeth distrusted him; Kitty thought her unjust, and therefore acted
as though she liked him better than she really did. She was a child
still in her love of mischief, and she soon found a sort of pleasure in
alternately vexing and