Jack Tosswill had gone off as early as he felt he decently could go, to The Trellis House, only to find its mistress gone—­and gone, which naturally much increased his disappointment and anger, only ten minutes before his arrival!  He had interviewed both servants, they only too willing, for his infatuation was by now known to the whole village.  But what they had to say gave him no comfort—­indeed, it was almost exactly what the house-parlourmaid had said last week, when Enid had gone off to town, leaving no address behind her.  This time, however, she had said she would telephone from town.

As he was turning away, feeling sick at heart, the cook suddenly vouchsafed the information that her mistress had left a letter for Mrs. Tosswill, and that The Trellis House odd man, on his way back from the station, where he had gone with Mrs. Crofton, for she had taken two large trunks this time, would deliver it at Old Place.

But when he reached home the letter had not yet been delivered, and Jack, half consciously desiring to visit his misery on someone else, hunted up Timmy in order to demand why Josephine and her kittens had not been sent back to Epsom ere now.  There had followed a lively scrap, leaving them both in a bad mood; but at last it was arranged that Godfrey, Betty and Timmy should motor to Epsom with the cat and her kittens after luncheon.

The morning wore itself slowly away.  Only two of the younger people were entirely happy—­Betty, doing her usual work, and Godfrey Radmore.  Even he was more restless than usual, and kept wandering in and out of the kitchen in a way which Rosamund, who was helping Betty, thought very tiresome.  As for Timmy, his mother could not make him out.  He seemed uncomfortable, and, to her practised eye, appeared to have something on his conscience.

Three times in one hour Jack came into the drawing-room and asked his step-mother whether she had not yet had a letter from The Trellis House.  Now Jack Tosswill had always been reserved, absurdly sensitive to any kind of ridicule.  Yet now he scarcely made an effort to conceal his unease and suspense.  Indeed, the third time he had actually exclaimed, “Janet!  Are you concealing anything from me?” And she had answered, honestly surprised, “I don’t know what you mean, Jack.  I’ve had no communication from Mrs. Crofton of any kind.  Are you sure she wrote me a letter?” And he had answered in a wretched tone:  “Quite sure.”

And then, about five minutes before luncheon, and luncheon had to be a very punctual meal at Old Place, for it was the one thing about which its master was particular, Timmy came in with a letter in his hand, and sidling up to his mother, observed with rather elaborate unconcern:  “A letter for you, Mum.”

She looked at him quite straight.  “Has this letter only just been left, my dear?”

He answered rather hurriedly:  “It came a little while ago, but I put it in my pocket and forgot it.”