Octavia impulsively turned to meet him, then checked herself and hid her
suddenly crimsoned face behind a newspaper. Treherne's eye took in
everything, and saw at once in the unusually late arrival of the mail a
pretext for discovering the pilferer of the note.

"All have letters but me, yet I expected one last night. Major, have you
got it among yours?" And as he spoke, Treherne fixed his penetrating
eyes full on the person he addressed.

With no sign of consciousness, no trace of confusion, the major
carefully turned over his pile, and replied in the most natural manner,
"Not a trace of it; I wish there was, for nothing annoys me more than
any delay or mistake about my letters."

He knows nothing of it, thought Treherne, and turned to Annon, who was
deep in a long epistle from some intimate friend, with a talent for
imparting news, to judge from the reader's interest.

"Annon, I appeal to you, for I _must_ discover who has robbed me of
my letter."

"I have but one, read it, if you will, and satisfy yourself" was the
brief reply.

"No, thank you. I merely asked in joke; it is doubtless among my lady's.
Jasper's letters and mine often get mixed, and my lady takes care of his
for him. I think you must have it, Aunt."

Lady Treherne looked up impatiently. "My dear Maurice, what a coil about
a letter! We none of us have it, so do not punish us for the sins of