"I'se wait for an answer?" said the boy.
"No," said the doctor; "leave the letter, and come away."
The breakfast hour was not very early at Boxall Hill in these summer months. Frank Gresham, no doubt, went round his farm before he came in for prayers, and his wife was probably looking to the butter in the dairy. At any rate, they did not meet till near ten, and therefore, though the ride from Greshamsbury to Boxall Hill was nearly two hours' work, Miss Dunstable had her letter in her own room before she came down.
She read it in silence as she was dressing, while the maid was with her in the room; but she made no sign which could induce her Abigail to think that the epistle was more than ordinarily important. She read it, and then quietly refolding it and placing it in the envelope, she put it down on the table at which she was sitting. It was full fifteen minutes afterward that she begged her servant to see if Mrs. Gresham were still in her own room. "Because I want to see her for five minutes alone, before breakfast," said Miss Dunstable.
"You traitor! you false, black traitor!" were the first words which Miss Dunstable spoke when she found herself alone with her friend.
"Why, what's the matter?"
"I did not think there was so much mischief in you, nor so keen and commonplace a desire for match-making. Look here! Read the first four lines; not more, if you please; the rest is private. Whose is the other judgment of whom your uncle speaks in his letter?"
"Oh, Miss Dunstable! I must read it all."
"Indeed you'll do no such thing. You think it's a love-letter, I dare say; but, indeed, there's not a word about love in it."
"I know he has offered. I shall be so glad, for I know you like him."
"He tells me that I am an old woman, and insinuates that I may probably be an old fool."
"I am sure he does not say that."
"Ah! but I'm sure that he does. The former is true enough, and I never complain of the truth. But as to the latter, I am by no means so certain that it is true—not in the sense that he means it."
