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This was a much nicer letter than Arabella had expected, as there were one or two touches in it, apart from the dead man and the horses, which she thought might lead to something, and there was a tone in the letter which seemed to show that he was given to correspondence. She took care to answer it so that he should get her letter on his arrival at Mr. Surbiton's house. She found out Mr.
Surbiton's address, and then gave a great deal of time to her letter. Letter No. 2. Murray's Hotel, Green Street, Thursday. My Dear Lord Rufford,
It's a new ghost, and I should like to know who he was, and why his victuals came in by the window." "I don't like a story about victuals," sulked Tommy. "It makes me think of the bread. O Granny dear! do tell us a fairy story. You never will tell us about the Fairies, and I know you know." "Hush! hush!" said the old lady. "There's Miss Surbiton's Love-letter, and her Dreadful End."
"No, Ronald," Joe answered sorrowfully, but regaining her equanimity in the face of Surbiton's wrath, "I am in earnest. I am very, very fond of you, but I do not love you at all, and I never can marry you." Ronald was red in the face, and he trod fast and angrily, tapping the pavement with his stick. He was very angry, but he said nothing.
Surbiton's house, as did also Captain Battersby, and his horses, grooms, and other belongings. When there he received a lot of letters, and among others one from Mr.
He was sitting in the smoking-room of the club having tea, and listening rather wearily to Surbiton's account of the last comic song at the Gaiety, when the waiter came in with the evening papers. He took up the St. James's, and was listlessly turning over its pages, when this strange heading caught his eye: SUICIDE OF A CHEIROMANTIST. He turned pale with excitement, and began to read.
"What does who mean, aunt?" "Lord Rufford." "He means to marry me. And he means to go from here to Mr. Surbiton's to-morrow. I don't quite understand the question." "And what do you mean to do?" "I mean to marry him. And I mean to join mamma in London on Wednesday. I believe we are to go to the Connop Green's the next day. Mr. Connop Green is a sort of cousin of mamma; but they are odious people."
It was then January, and the great Mistletoe question was not as yet settled. Letter No. 3. December 31. My Dear Miss Trefoil, Here I am still at Surbiton's and we have had such good sport that I'm half inclined to give the Duke the slip. What a pity that you can't come here instead. Wouldn't it be nice for you and half a dozen more without any of the Dowagers or Duennas?
But her serious letter would, she feared, be stiff and repulsive. Whether her fears were right the reader shall judge, for the letter when written was as follows: Marygold Place, Basingstoke, Saturday. My Dear Lord Rufford, You will I suppose have got the letter that I wrote before I left Mistletoe, and which I directed to Mr. Surbiton's.
Now we're two for a while; and I don't care for how long unless he comes round. I cannot stand a funeral and I shall get away from this. I will pay the bill and Purefoy may do the rest. I'm going for Christmas to Surbiton's near Melton with a string of horses. Surbiton is a bachelor, and as there will be no young ladies to interfere with me I shall have the more time to think of you.
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