“Well, it was hard upon us,” said John with a sigh: “but I’ve made up my mind to it now. You had better go over to-morrow and ask how she is.” Letitia was very eager to go to see with her own eyes what was the condition of affairs, but yet it was not without difficulty that she persuaded herself to return to the house where her last visit had been so disastrous. It was now September, and the days were beginning to get short, but this time she took no bag, nor had she the least intention of staying over the night. An hour would be enough, she thought, to hear all she wanted and see what she could. But her sense of guilt would not be subdued as she approached the house and remembered how she had fled away from it six weeks before, having done all the harm that it was possible to do. She had no intention now of doing any harm; oh, no, no! only to inquire and if practicable see for herself what prospect of sanity there was for Mary or life for her boy. When she met in her progress up the avenue in the fly she had hired at the station the little pathetic group above described, the nurse carrying the infant and Lord Frogmore marching melancholy at its side, she hurriedly stopped and sprang out, feeling that Lord Frogmore was likely to be more easily dealt with than Agnes, whose feminine instincts would divine her object. But Letitia did not find that a very gracious reception awaited her. Lord Frogmore looked out with a little irritation as the cab drew up. He evidently thought a visitor an impertinence. When he was compelled by his sister-in-law’s eager and excessively affectionate accost to stop in his walk and speak to her, a gleam of angry light came into his eyes. “Oh, it is you, Mrs. John!” he said. “Oh, Frogmore,” cried the lady, “how is Mary? I could not rest when I heard how ill she was till I had come over to see for myself.” “I do not know,” said Lord Frogmore stiffly, “how ill you may have heard she was: but I don’t wonder that you should wish to see for yourself.” “No: can you wonder? We have been like sisters almost all our lives.” Though Letitia quaked at the old lord’s tone, she felt that it was the wisest way to ignore all offence. “Sisters, if all tales are true, are not always the best of friends,” said Lord Frogmore. “Familiarity interferes with the natural bounds of good breeding. I think, Mrs. John, that I must ask you not to go any further, or at least not to insist on seeing Lady Frogmore.” “Is she so very bad?” said Letitia in a thrilling whisper. “No,” he said with irritation. “I did not say she was very bad. I said I could not admit visitors who, perhaps, might forget what is due to a delicate and sensitive woman.” “I did not know,” said Letitia with an injured air, “that I was so little worthy of confidence. I am very sorry that Mary is so ill; so is John. We both felt we could not rest without knowing personally how much or how little of what we hear is true.”