'My dear, you had so much to tell me. I waited for the first pause.'

'That isn't from home,' said the girl, after a glance at the
envelope. 'It's nothing.'

After saying good-night, she called to Emmeline from her bedroom
door. Entering the room, Mrs. Mumford saw the open letter in
Louise's hand, and read in her face a desire of confession.

'I want to tell you something. Don't be in a hurry; just a few
minutes. This letter is from Mr. Bowling. Yes, and I've had one from
him before, and I was obliged to answer it.'

'Do you mean they are love-letters?'

'Yes, I'm afraid they are. And it's so stupid, and I'm so vexed. I
don't want to have anything to do with him, as I told you long ago.'
Louise often used expressions which to a stranger would have implied
that her intimacy with Mrs. Mumford was of years' standing. 'He
wrote for the first time last week. Such a silly letter! I wish you
would read it. Well, he said that it was all over between him and
Cissy, and that he cared only for me, and always had, and always
would--you know how men write. He said he considered himself quite
free. Cissy had refused him, and wasn't that enough? Now that I was
away from home, he could write to me, and wouldn't I let him see me?
Of course I wrote that I didn't _want_ to see him, and I thought he
was behaving very badly--though I don't really think so, because
it's all that idiot Cissy's fault. Didn't I do quite right?'

'I think so.'