“I’ll show you the objection,” he said. “Suppose Blanche told one of those inveterately intrusive insects that the honey in the flowers happens, through an unexpected accident, to have come to an end--do you think he would take the statement for granted? No. He would plunge head-foremost into the nearest flower, and investigate it for himself.” “Well?” said Arnold. “Well--there is Blanche in the breakfast-room telling Lady Lundie that the bridal tour happens, through an unexpected accident, to have come to an end. Do you think Lady Lundie is the sort of person to take the statement for granted? Nothing of the sort! Lady Lundie, like the bee, will insist on investigating for herself. How it will end, if she discovers the truth--and what new complications she may not introduce into a matter which, Heaven knows, is complicated enough already--I leave you to imagine. _My_ poor powers of prevision are not equal to it.” Before Arnold could answer, Blanche joined them from the breakfast-room. “I’ve done it,” she said. “It was an awkward letter to write--and it’s a comfort to have it over.” “You have done it, my dear,” remarked Sir Patrick, quietly. “And it may be a comfort. But it’s not over.” “What do you mean?” “I think, Blanche, we shall hear from your step-mother by return of post.” CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH. THE NEWS FROM GLASGOW. THE letters to Lady Lundie and to Mr. Crum having been dispatched on Monday, the return of the post might be looked for on Wednesday afternoon at Ham Farm. Sir Patrick and Arnold held more than one private consultation, during the interval, on the delicate and difficult subject of admitting Blanche to a knowledge of what had happened. The wise elder advised and the inexperienced junior listened. “Think of it,” said Sir Patrick; “and do it.” And Arnold thought of it--and left it undone. Let those who feel inclined to blame him remember that he had only been married a fortnight. It is hard, surely, after but two weeks’ possession of your wife, to appear before her in the character of an offender on trial--and to find that an angel of retribution has been thrown into the bargain by the liberal destiny which bestowed on you the woman whom you adore! They were all three at home on the Wednesday afternoon, looking out for the postman. The correspondence delivered included (exactly as Sir Patrick had foreseen) a letter from Lady Lundie. Further investigation, on the far more interesting subject of the expected news from Glasgow, revealed--nothing. The lawyer had not answered Sir Patrick’s inquiry by return of post. “Is that a bad sign?” asked Blanche. “It is a sign that something has happened,” answered her uncle. “Mr. Crum is possibly expecting to receive some special information, and is waiting on the chance of being able to communicate it. We must hope, my dear, in to-morrow’s post.” “Open Lady Lundie’s letter in the mean time,” said Blanche. “Are you sure it is for you--and not for me?”