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I mentioned all the details exactly as I remembered them. Mr. Playmore returned to his writing for the third and last time. Thus the notes ended: "He is indirectly assured that he at least is not the person suspected. He sinks back in his chair; he draws a long breath; he asks to be left a while by himself, under the pretense that the subject excites him.
Playmore's advice, so as to be within an easy journey to Edinburgh in case it might be necessary for me to consult him personally. Three more weeks of weary expectation passed before a second letter reached me. This time it was impossible to say whether the news were good or bad. It might have been either it was simply bewildering. Even Mr. Playmore himself was taken by surprise.
Eustace, that unhappy man has said his last words." He opened the door stopped considered and come back to me. "With regard to that matter of sending the agent to America," he resumed "I propose to have the honor of submitting to you a brief abstract " "Oh, Mr. Playmore!" "A brief abstract in writing, Mrs. Eustace, of the estimated expenses of the whole proceeding.
Beauly?" I asked. "Has Mr. Playmore ever told you why Eustace did not marry her, after the Trial?" "I put that question to Mr. Playmore myself," said Benjamin. "He answered it easily enough. Being your husband's confidential friend and adviser, he was consulted when Mr. Eustace wrote to Mrs. Beauly, after the Trial; and he repeated the substance of the letter, at my request.
Although I was no prude, I recoiled from the thought of it. I arose late, and sat down at my desk, trying to summon energy enough to write to Mr. Playmore and trying in vain. "It's a woman this time, ma'am or something like one," said this worthy person, confidentially. "A great, stout, awkward, stupid creature, with a man's hat on and a man's stick in her hand.
BY that night's post although I was far from being fit to make the exertion I wrote to Mr. Playmore, to tell him what had taken place, and to beg for his earliest assistance and advice. The notes in Benjamin's book were partly written in shorthand, and were, on that account, of no use to me in their existing condition. At my request, he made two fair copies.
"Well, if we don't meet wear that," she said, and, laughing over her shoulder, turned and ran into the grounds of Loyland Towers. When Dyck entered the library of Playmore, the first words he heard were these: "Howe has downed the French at Brest. He's smashed the French fleet and dealt a sharp blow to the revolution. Hurrah!"
I asked, in surprise. "When I undertake a duty, I do it," he answered. "You never gave me the signal to leave off you never moved your chair. I have written every word of it. What shall I do? Throw it out of the cab window?" "Give it to me." "What are you going to do with it?" "I don't know yet. I will ask Mr. Playmore."
Have I no claim to look at the letter?" Benjamin was too much surprised, and too much pleased with me, when he heard what had happened, to be able to resist my entreaties. He gave me the letter. Mr. Playmore wrote to appeal confidentially to Benjamin as a commercial man.
The wise and the right way, as I thought, was to tell Mr. Playmore frankly that I was not mistress of my Own movements, and that he had better address his next letter to me at Benjamin's house. Writing to my legal adviser in this sense, I had a word of my own to add on the subject of the torn letter.
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