Letitia was a long time in the room, and was not visible at all downstairs during the moment of gladness which changed the aspect of everything. Her door remained locked all the morning, and the housemaids were shut out, unable to “do” the room, which was the most curious interruption of all the laws of life. The bed was not made, nor anything swept nor dusted at noon, when she appeared downstairs--a thing which had never happened before in the house, which never happens in any respectable house except in cases of illness. Missis’ room, too, the most important of all! Nobody saw what went on inside in those two long hours. Perhaps only John divined the strain which was going on in his wife’s mind, and he but imperfectly, having little in his own nature of the poison in hers. And John took very good care not to disturb Letitia. He would neither go himself nor let Letty go to make sure that her mother knew the good news about Mar, or to see if she were ill or anything wrong. She was sure to know, he said; and no doubt she had something to do which kept her in her room. But there was also no doubt that he was somewhat nervous himself at her long disappearance. Two hours she was invisible, which for the mother of a family and the mistress of a house is a very long time. When she came downstairs she had her bonnet on and was going out. She had ordered the brougham though it was a very bright and warm day, and announced that she was going to Ridding for some shopping she had to do, but wanted no one to go with her--nor were they to wait luncheon for her should she be late. “You have heard of course, Letitia, about Mar,” John said, as he came out with his old-fashioned politeness to put his wife into the carriage. “Is there anything new about Mar!” she said, with a sort of disdain. “Oh, mamma, he’s better! the fever is gone, he is going to get well,” cried Tiny, who was still dancing about the hall.