Shirley

himself handed it to Miss Keeldar out of the bag: he knew the handwriting; he knew the crest on the seal. He did not see it opened and read, for Shirley took it to her own room; nor did he see it answered, for she wrote her reply shut up, and was very long about it, – the best part of a day. He questioned her whether it was answered; she responded, »Yes.«
    Again he waited – waited in silence – absolutely not daring to speak: kept mute by something in Shirley's face, – a very awful something – inscrutable to him as the writing on the wall to Belshazzar. He was moved more than once to call Daniel, in the person of Louis Moore, and to ask an interpretation; but his dignity for bade the familiarity. Daniel himself, perhaps, had his own private difficulties connected with that baffling bit of translation: he looked like a student for whom grammars are blank, and dictionaries dumb.
     
    Mr. Sympson had been out, to while away an anxious hour in the society of his friends at De Walden Hall. He returned a little sooner than was expected; his family and Miss Keeldar were assembled in the oak-parlour; addressing the latter, he requested her to step with him into another room: he wished to have with her a »
strictly
private interview.«
    She rose, asking no questions, and professing no surprise.
    »Very well, sir,« she said in the tone of a determined person, who is informed that the dentist is come to extract that large double tooth of his, from which he has suffered such a purgatory this month past. She left her sewing and her thimble in the window-seat, and followed her uncle where he led.
    Shut into the drawing-room, the pair took seats, each in an arm-chair, placed opposite, a few yards between them.
    »I have been to De Walden Hall,« said Mr. Sympson. He paused. Miss Keeldar's eyes were on the pretty white and green carpet.
That
information required no response: she gave none.
    »I have learned,« he went on, slowly, – »I have learned a circumstance which surprises me.«
    Resting her cheek on her forefinger, she waited to be told
what
circumstance.
    »It seems that Nunnely Priory is shut up; that the family are gone back to their place in ––shire. It seems that the baronet – that the baronet – that Sir Philip himself has accompanied his mother and sisters.«
    »Indeed!« said Shirley.
    »May I ask if you share the amazement with which I received this news?«
    »No, sir.«
    »
Is
it news to you?«
    »Yes, sir.«
    »I mean – I mean –« pursued Mr. Sympson, now fidgeting in his chair, quitting his hitherto brief and tolerably clear phraseology, and returning to his customary wordy, confused, irritable style; »I mean to have a
thorough
explanation. I will
not
be put off. I – I – shall
insist
on being heard; and on – on having my own way. My questions
must
be answered. I will have clear, satisfactory replies. I am not to be trifled with. Silence!
    It is a strange and an extraordinary thing – a very singular – a most odd thing! I thought all was right: knew no other: and there – the family are gone!«
    »I suppose, sir, they had a right to go.«
    »
Sir Philip is gone!
« (with emphasis).
    Shirley raised her brows: »Bon voyage!« said she.
    »This will not do: this must be altered, ma'am.«
    He drew his chair forward; he pushed it back; he looked perfectly incensed, and perfectly helpless.
    »Come, come, now, uncle,« expostulated Shirley, »do not begin to fret and fume, or we shall make no sense of the business. Ask me what you want to know: I am as willing to come to an explanation as you: I promise you truthful replies.«
    »I want – I demand to know, Miss Keeldar, whether Sir Philip has made you an offer?«
    »He has.«
    »You avow it?«
    »I avow it. But now, go on: consider that point settled.«
    »He made you an offer that night we dined at the Priory?«
    »It is enough to say that he made it. Go on.«
    »He proposed in the recess – in the room that used to be a picture-gallery – that Sir Monckton converted into a saloon?«
    No answer.
    »You were both examining a cabinet: I saw it all: my sagacity was not at fault – it never is. Subsequently, you received a letter from him. On what subject – of what nature were the contents?«
    »No matter.«
    »Ma'am, is that the way in which you speak to me?«
    Shirley's foot tapped quick on the carpet.
    »There you sit, silent and sullen –
you
who promised truthful replies!«
    »Sir, I have answered you thus far: