My Dear Coristine, What do you mean, you scamp, by frightening the wits out of my poor lassie with that typewritten bit of legal formality?  I have a great mind to issue a warrant for your arrest, and send Rigby down with it, to bring you before me and Halbert and Walker.  Man, we would put you through better than Osgoode Hall!  But, seriously, we all want you to stick to this next of kin case.  Spare no expense travelling about, especially if your travel is in this direction.  I think you are not judging Marjorie fairly, not that I would throw my bonnie niece at the head of a prince of the blood, but I have taken a great liking to you, and I know that you have more than a great liking for her.  So, no more nonsense.  Honoria and Marjorie (Mrs. Carmichael), and all the rest of Bridesdale, send kind love and say “come back soon.” 
                                 Yours affectionately,
JOHN CARRUTHERS.

Mrs. Carruthers also wrote a note that will explain itself:—­

Dear Mr. Coristine,—­Please to overlook my long delay in replying to your kind letter and in thanking you for your goodness to the children, who miss you very much, I intended to get Marjorie or her mother to write for me, but in the bustle of housework, preserving, and so on, forgot, which was not kind of me.  Father desires me to remember him to you, and says he longs for another smoke and talk.  The others have a delicacy in writing, so I am compelled to do it myself, though a very poor correspondent.  John has told me about Mr. Douglas coming out to see about Marjorie’s fortune.  As I suppose he will want to see her and her mother, will you please bring him up yourself, and arrange to give us a long visit.  Marjorie Thomas says there are many new flowers out, and that she and my little ones have hardly touched the creek since you left us.

                          With kind regards,
                                Your very sincere friend,
                                        HONORIA CARRUTHERS.

Coristine came home jaded on Wednesday evening.  The day had been hot, and in the absence of all the other principals, the work had been heavy.  He had interested himself, also, in lady typewriters since his return, and had compelled some to take a much-needed holiday.  Four unopened letters from Bridesdale were in his pocket, which he had saved for after dinner.  At that meal, the young men of Mrs. Marsh’s grown-up family rallied him on his lack of appetite and general depression.  He had not made a pun for four days running, a thing unprecedented.  Dinner over, he slipped away to his rooms, lit a pipe, and read the letters, the contents of two of which, three including the Squire’s formal one, are already known.  Another, in a fine clerkly hand, was from Mr. Errol.