"I suppose he got his letter." This was mainly thinking aloud, for how could Charlotte know anything about his letter? She could guess, though, and was not slow over it. "I suppose so, because he answered it." Then she may have felt that her knowing so much without data might seem unwarranted; for she added: "At least, if it was a letter from her," and then explanatorily, in response to an inquiring look, "Yes!--Judith Arkroyd, of course." She probably had no definitely mischievous motive in the phrasing of this. The assumption that any "her" must be Miss Arkroyd only showed what she herself had been thinking of. But it teemed with suggestion of continuous correspondence between the lady and gentleman in hand. Marianne flushed angrily, far more moved by the way in which she heard of it than by the mere letter itself. It was only one of many letters, after all! "How do you know? How can you tell?" "Marianne dear--really!" "Really what? No, Charlotte, you're nonsensical. Of course it was her! Why _do_ you take a pleasure in mystifying me? Can't you tell me what you mean? How do you know he answered it?" "Dear, if you'll be patient, I'll tell you. But, really, you do make so much out of nothing ... it's all about _nothing_." And, indeed, Mrs. Eldridge looked frightened, as a mischief-maker may whose hobby has got the bit in its teeth. "If it's nothing, at least you can tell me what it is." And Marianne, who a moment since was red, now goes white, with hands just restless and a foot that taps uneasily. There had been nothing in antecedent circumstance to warrant so much excitement. So thinks Mrs. Charlotte, and would like to hark back, and make her mischief gradually, on congenial safe lines. A row would be premature, to her thinking. "What _what_ is, Marianne dear?" she says. But then makes concession: "Only, of course, dear, I know what you _mean_. How did _I_ come to know about the letter he sent her? It's quite simple...." "Well--go on!" "... It was Bob. He was in here just now, and told me his father had sent him to post a letter to Judith--that's what the young monkey calls her--and then you asked if he had got his letter. Of course, I thought it _must_ be from her." "Why?" "Oh, nonsense _why_, Marianne dear! How _could_ it be anyone else?" And Mrs. Challis cannot answer this, naturally, as she knows quite well it was Judith's handwriting alone that attracted her attention to the letter, and that there were at least a dozen other items by the same post. Charlotte continued: "I can see nothing to make such a fuss about. With this play-acting going on, a letter might be anything." "How do you know I thought it wasn't anything?" "I dare say you didn't, dear. Of course, one takes for granted that one's husband ... well!--even if it was John, it would never occur to me. And look at the difference between my John and your Titus!"