“Have they gone?”

“No, my lady.  Mrs. Glenarm told me Yes or No would do for answer, if you could only have the goodness to read this.”

“Thoughtless of Mrs. Glenarm—­at a time when the doctor insists on perfect repose,” said Lady Lundie.  “It doesn’t matter.  One sacrifice more or less is of very little consequence.”

She fortified herself by an application of the smelling-bottle, and opened the note.  It ran thus: 

“So grieved, dear Lady Lundie, to hear that you are a prisoner in your room!  I had taken the opportunity of calling with Mrs. Delamayn, in the hope that I might be able to ask you a question.  Will your inexhaustible kindness forgive me if I ask it in writing?  Have you had any unexpected news of Mr. Arnold Brinkworth lately?  I mean, have you heard any thing about him, which has taken you very much by surprise?  I have a serious reason for asking this.  I will tell you what it is, the moment you are able to see me.  Until then, one word of answer is all I expect.  Send word down—­Yes, or No.  A thousand apologies—­and pray get better soon!”

The singular question contained in this note suggested one of two inferences to Lady Lundie’s mind.  Either Mrs. Glenarm had heard a report of the unexpected return of the married couple to England—­or she was in the far more interesting and important position of possessing a clew to the secret of what was going on under the surface at Ham Farm.  The phrase used in the note, “I have a serious reason for asking this,” appeared to favor the latter of the two interpretations.  Impossible as it seemed to be that Mrs. Glenarm could know something about Arnold of which Lady Lundie was in absolute ignorance, her ladyship’s curiosity (already powerfully excited by Blanche’s mysterious letter) was only to be quieted by obtaining the necessary explanation forthwith, at a personal interview.

“Hopkins,” she said, “I must see Mrs. Glenarm.”

Hopkins respectfully held up her hands in horror.  Company in the bedroom in the present state of her ladyship’s health!

“A matter of duty is involved in this, Hopkins.  Give me the glass.”

Hopkins produced an elegant little hand-mirror.  Lady Lundie carefully surveyed herself in it down to the margin of the bedclothes.  Above criticism in every respect?  Yes—­even when the critic was a woman.

“Show Mrs. Glenarm up here.”

In a minute or two more the iron-master’s widow fluttered into the room—­a little over-dressed as usual; and a little profuse in expressions of gratitude for her ladyship’s kindness, and of anxiety about her ladyship’s health.  Lady Lundie endured it as long as she could—­then stopped it with a gesture of polite remonstrance, and came to the point.

“Now, my dear—­about this question in your note?  Is it possible you have heard already that Arnold Brinkworth and his wife have come back from Baden?” Mrs. Glenarm opened her eyes in astonishment.  Lady Lundie put it more plainly.  “They were to have gone on to Switzerland, you know, for their wedding tour, and they suddenly altered their minds, and came back to England on Sunday last.”