I address myself to the head of the family, purely in the interests of propriety.  Permit me to ask whether—­under circumstances which appear to be serious enough to require the recall of my step-daughter and her husband from their wedding tour—­you think it DECENT to keep the widow of the late Sir Thomas Lundie entirely in the dark?  Pray consider this—­not at all out of regard for Me!—­but out of regard for your own position with Society.  Curiosity is, as you know, foreign to my nature.  But when this dreadful scandal (whatever it may be) comes out—­which, dear Sir Patrick, it can not fail to do—­what will the world think, when it asks for Lady Lundie’s, opinion, and hears that Lady Lundie knew nothing about it?  Whichever way you may decide I shall take no offense.  I may possibly be wounded—­but that won’t matter.  My little round of duties will find me still earnest, still cheerful.  And even if you shut me out, my best wishes will find their way, nevertheless, to Ham Farm.  May I add—­without encountering a sneer—­that the prayers of a lonely woman are offered for the welfare of all?”

“Well?” said Blanche.

Sir Patrick folded up the letter, and put it in his pocket.

“You have your step-mother’s best wishes, my dear.”  Having answered in those terms, he bowed to his niece with his best grace, and walked out of the room.

“Do I think it decent,” he repeated to himself, as he closed the door, “to leave the widow of the late Sir Thomas Lundie in the dark?  When a lady’s temper is a little ruffled, I think it more than decent, I think it absolutely desirable, to let that lady have the last word.”  He went into the library, and dropped his sister-in-law’s remonstrance into a box, labeled “Unanswered Letters.”  Having got rid of it in that way, he hummed his favorite little Scotch air—­and put on his hat, and went out to sun himself in the garden.

Meanwhile, Blanche was not quite satisfied with Sir Patrick’s reply.  She appealed to her husband.  “There is something wrong,” she said—­“and my uncle is hiding it from me.”

Arnold could have desired no better opportunity than she had offered to him, in those words, for making the long-deferred disclosure to her of the truth.  He lifted his eyes to Blanche’s face.  By an unhappy fatality she was looking charmingly that morning.  How would she look if he told her the story of the hiding at the inn?  Arnold was still in love with her—­and Arnold said nothing.

The next day’s post brought not only the anticipated letter from Mr. Crum, but an unexpected Glasgow newspaper as well.

This time Blanche had no reason to complain that her uncle kept his correspondence a secret from her.  After reading the lawyer’s letter, with an interest and agitation which showed that the contents had taken him by surprise, he handed it to Arnold and his niece.  “Bad news there,” he said.  “We must share it together.”