Bessie assented
sullenly, but, strange to say, she had never been in better spirits
than on the day after this decision had been arrived at.
On that day, however--it was early in March--an annoying
incident happened. Mr. Scawthorne, who always dined in town and
seldom returned to his lodgings till late in the evening, rang his
bell about eight o'clock and sent a message by the servant that he
wished to see Mrs. Byass. Bessie having come up, he announced to her
with gravity that his tenancy of the rooms would be at an end in a
fortnight. Various considerations necessitated his livin in a
different part of London. Bessie frankly lamented; she would never
again find such an estimable lodger. But, to be sure, Mr. Scawthorne
had prepared her for this, three months ago. Well, what must be,
must be.
'Is Miss Snowdon in the house, Mrs. Byass?' Scawthorne went on to
inquire.
'Miss Snowdon? Yes.'
'This letter from America, which I found on coming in, contains news
she must hear--disagreeable news, I'm sorry to say.'
'About her father?' Bessie inquired anxiously.
Scawthorne nodded a grave and confidential affirmative. He had never
given Mrs.
Pages:
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744