“Don’t believe in what, aunt?  You don’t mean to say that you don’t believe that Lord Rufford has asked me to be his wife!” Then she paused, but the Duchess absolutely lacked the courage to express her conviction again.  “I don’t suppose it signifies much,” continued Arabella, “but of course it would have been something to me that Lord Rufford should have known that the Duke was anxious for my welfare.  He was quite prepared to have assured my uncle of his intentions.”

“Then why didn’t he speak himself?”

“Because the Duke is not my father.  Really, aunt, when I hear you talk of his running away I do feel it to be unkind.  As if we didn’t all know that a man like that goes and comes as he pleases.  It was just before dinner that he got the message, and was he to run round and wish everybody good-bye like a schoolgirl going to bed?”

The Duchess was almost certain that no message had come, and from various little things which she had observed and from tidings which had reached her, very much doubted whether Arabella had known anything of his intended going.  She too had a maid of her own who on occasions could bring information.  But she had nothing further to say on the subject.  If Arabella should ever become Lady Rufford she would of course among other visitors be occasionally received at Mistletoe.  She could never be a favourite, but things would to a certain degree have rectified themselves.  But if, as the Duchess expected, no such marriage took place, then this ill-conducted niece should never be admitted within the house again.

Later on in the afternoon, some hours after it became dusk, Arabella contrived to meet her aunt in the hall with a letter in her hand, and asked where the letter-box was.  She knew where to deposit her letters as well as did the Duchess herself; but she desired an opportunity of proclaiming what she had done.  “I am writing to Lord Rufford.  Perhaps as I am in your house I ought to tell you what I have done.”

“The letter-box is in the billiard-room, close to the door,” said the Duchess passing on.  Then she added as she went, “The post for to-day has gone already.”

“His Lordship will have to wait a day for his letter.  I dare say it won’t break his heart,” said Arabella, as she turned away to the billiard-room.

All this had been planned; and, moreover, she had so written her letter that if her magnificent aunt should condescend to tamper with it all that was in it should seem to corroborate her own story.  The Duchess would have considered herself disgraced if ever she had done such a thing;—­but the niece of the Duchess did not quite understand that this would be so.  The letter was as follows: 

Mistletoe, 19th Jany. 1875.

Dearest R.,

Your going off like that was, after all, very horrid.  My aunt thinks that you were running away from me.  I think that you were running away from her.  Which was true?  In real earnest I don’t for a moment think that either I or the Duchess had anything to do with it, and that you did go because some horrid man wrote and asked you.  I know you don’t like being bound by any of the conventionalities.  I hope there is such a word, and that if not, you’ll understand it just the same.