There was a great deal in this letter which was quite terrible to Miss Trefoil.  In the first place by the time she received it she had managed the matter with her uncle.  Her father had altogether refused to mention Lord Rufford’s name, though he had heard the very plain proposition which his daughter made to him with perfect serenity.  But he had said to the Duke that it would be a great convenience if Bell could be received at Mistletoe for a few days, and the Duke had got the Duchess to assent.  Lady Augustus, too, had been disposed of, and two very handsome new dresses had been acquired.  Her habit had been altered with reckless disregard of the coming spring and she was fully prepared for her campaign.  But what would Mistletoe be to her without Lord Rufford?  In spite of all that had been done she would not go there.  Unless she could turn him by her entreaties she would pack up everything and start for Patagonia, with the determination to throw herself overboard on the way there if she could find the courage.

She had to think very much of her next letter.  Should she write in anger or should she write in love, or should she mingle both?  There was no need for care now, as there had been at first.  She must reach him at once, or everything would be over.  She must say something that would bring him to Mistletoe, whatever that something might be.  After much thought she determined that mingled anger and love would be the best.  So she mingled them as follows: 

Letter No. 4.

Greenacre Manor, Monday.

Your last letter which I have just got has killed me.  You must know that I have altered my plans and done it at immense trouble for the sake of meeting you at Mistletoe.  It will be most unkind,—­I might say worse,—­if you put me off.  I don’t think you can do it as a gentleman.  I’m sure you would not if you knew what I have gone through with mamma and the whole set of them to arrange it.  Of course I shan’t go if you don’t come.  Your talk of sending the horse there is adding an insult to the injury.  You must have meant to annoy me or you wouldn’t have pretended to suppose that it was the horse I wanted to see.  I didn’t think I could have taken so violent a dislike to poor Jack as I did for a moment.  Let me tell you that I think you are bound to go to Mistletoe though the hunting at Melton should be better than was ever known before.  When the hunting is good in one place of course it is good in another.  Even I am sportsman enough to know that.  I suppose you have been losing a lot of money and are foolish enough to think you can win it back again.

Please, please come.  It was to be the little cream of the year for me.  It wasn’t Jack.  There!  That ought to bring you.  And yet, if you come, I will worship Jack.  I have not said a word to mamma about altering my plans, nor shall I while there is a hope.  But to Mistletoe I will not go, unless you are to be there.  Pray answer this by return of post.  If we have gone your letter will of course follow us.  Pray come.  Yours if you do come—­; what shall I say?  Fill it as you please. 
                                 A. T.