"Mr Haddon has left, sir," said the footman, standing by Claude's
bedside in the detached manner of the well-bred domestic. "Here is a
note for you, sir; I was to give it you the first thing."
And he handed it on a salver.
Claude stretched out his thin white arm and took it, without manifesting
any of the surprise that he felt. When the footman had gone, he poured
out a cup of tea from the silver teapot that stood on a small table at
his elbow, sipped it, and quietly opened the square envelope. The
Northamptonshire sun was pouring in with a countrified ardour through
the bedroom window. Outside the birds twittered in Miss Haddon's
cherished garden. For Claude had come down at that contented spinster's
invitation to spend a week with her, bringing Jimmy as chaperon, and
this was the very first morning of his visit. Now he learnt that his
chaperon had already "left," possibly to be a "half-back," or something
equally ridiculous, at a local football match in a neighbouring
village. Claude spread the note out and read it, while the birds chirped
to the very manifest spring.
"DEAR BOY,--Good-bye, and good luck to you. I know you are
never angry, so it is scarcely worth while to tell you not to
be. I am off. Back in a week. You will learn your lesson
better alone with Aunt Kitty. There is no absinthe in her
cellar, but she knows good champagne from bad. You will be all
right. Study hard.--Yours ever,