"A present?"

"No; at least I suppose not; but there may be one inside."

"Inside? Oh, then it's a parcel?" asked Juliet good-humouredly.

She felt a mild curiosity, tempered by the knowledge that many things
provided a thrill for the ten-year-old Dora, which she, from the advanced
age of twenty-three, could not look upon as particularly exciting.

"No, not a parcel," cried Dora, dancing round her. "It's a letter.
There now!"

"Then why do you say it's something I don't often get?" asked Juliet
suspiciously; "I often get letters. It's an invitation to the Gertignes'
dance, I expect."

"No, no, it isn't. It's a letter from England. You don't often get one
from there, now, do you? You never did before since we've been here. I
always examine your letters, you know," said Dora, "to see if they look
as if they came from young men. So does Margaret. We think it's time you
got engaged."

Margaret was the next sister.

"It's very good of you to take such an interest in my fate," Juliet
replied, as she pulled off her gloves and went to the side-table for the
letter. As a matter of fact she was a good deal excited now; for what the
child said was true enough. She might even have gone further, and said
that she had never had a letter from England, except while Sir Arthur was