"She has not told me: I guess it is some secret," returned Charlotte,
beginning upon the sandwiches. "I learnt it in a curious way."
A vein of seriousness ran through her half-mocking tone; seriousness lay
in her keen and candid eyes, lifted to mine.
"Yes, it was rather curious, the way it came to me: and perhaps on my
part not altogether honourable. Early this morning, Johnny, before ten
o'clock had struck, mamma made me go in and ask how Lady Jenkins was,
and whether she would be able to come to-night. I ran in the nearest
way, by the glass-doors, boisterously of course--mamma is always going
on at me for that--and the breeze the doors made as I threw them open
blew a piece of paper off the table. I stooped to pick it up, and saw it
was a letter just begun in madame's handwriting."
"Well?"
"Well, my eyes fell on the few words written; but I declare that I read
them heedlessly, not with any dishonourable intention; such a thought
never entered my mind. 'Dear Sissy,' the letter began, 'You must not
come yet, for Johnny Ludlow is here, of all people in the world; it
would not do for you and him to meet.' That was all."
"I suppose madame had been called away," continued Charlotte, after a
pause. "I put the paper on the table, and was going on into the passage,
when I found the room-door locked: so I just came out again, ran round
to the front-door and went in that way. Now if you are not a bear,
Johnny, why should you frighten people?"