"Oh no, thanks," said Constance. "I only want my letters, if the
postman has come. He ought to have been here long ago." Sophia had
learned during her stay that Sunday morning was the morning on
which Constance expected a letter from Cyril. It was a definite
arrangement between mother and son that Cyril should write on
Saturdays, and Constance on Sundays. Sophia knew that Constance
set store by this letter, becoming more and more preoccupied about
Cyril as the end of the week approached. Since Sophia's arrival
Cyril's letter had not failed to come, but once it had been naught
save a scribbled line or two, and Sophia gathered that it was
never a certainty, and that Constance was accustomed, though not
reconciled, to disappointments. Sophia had been allowed to read
the letters. They left a faint impression on her mind that her
favourite was perhaps somewhat negligent in his relations with his
mother.
There was no reply to the bell. Constance rang again without
effect.
With a brusque movement Sophia left the bedroom by way of Cyril's
room.
"Amy," she called over the banisters, "do you not hear your
mistress's bell?"
"I'm coming as quick as I can, m'm.
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