"The lady, sir--a real lady, I should think--'ave brought it in her
own bruffam, and was most particular, sir, as you should 'ave it at
once."
Mr. Faulks took the letter and examined it carefully.
"From that charming woman, Mrs. Wilders, my cousin, or rather Stanny's
cousin; but his relations are mine. I am his uncle; some day, if he
lives, I shall be uncle to an earl. They will treat me better perhaps
when I have all the Essendine interest at my back. Whippersnappers
like this Fothergill will scarcely dare to snub me then. A good lad
Stanislas; I always liked him. I wish he was back amongst us, and not
at that horrid war."
"The lady, sir, is most anxious, sir, to have a answer," put in the
messenger, recalling Mr. Faulks's attention to the letter.
"Ah! to be sure. One moment," and he read the note:--
"Cannot I see you?" it said. "I am oppressed with fears for
our dear Stanislas. Do please spare me a few minutes of your
valuable time.
"CYPRIENNE W."
"I will go down to her at once, say." And, seizing his hat, Mr. Faulks
followed the messenger into the street, where he found Mrs. Wilders in
her tiny brougham, at the door of the office.
"Oh, how good of you!" she said, putting out a little hand in a
perfectly-fitting grey glove.
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