"It is more than half-past eight." "Eh!" exclaimed Benjafleld.
"I asked why the post was so late." "Eh?
I'm hard of hearing, your ladyship." He came a little nearer, and leered up in the most familiar way into the aristocratic face of Mrs.Bertram.
"Intolerable old man," she muttered, aloud: "Take the letters from him, Catherine, and bring them here." Then raising her voice to a thin scream, she continued: "I shall write to the general post-office on this subject; it is quite intolerable that in any part of England Her Majesty's Post should be entrusted to incapable hands." Old Benjafield, fumbling in his bag, produced two letters which he presented to Catherine.

He did so with a dubious, inquiring glance at her mother, again informed the company generally that he was hard of hearing, and hobbled away.
One of the letters, addressed in a manly and dashing hand, was for Catherine.

The other, also in manly but decidedly cramped writing, was addressed to Mrs.Bertram.
She started when she saw the handwriting, instantly forgot old Benjafield, and disappeared into the house.
When she was gone Mabel danced up to her sister's side, and looked over her shoulder at the thick envelope addressed in the manly hand.
"Kate, it's from Loftie!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, it's from Loftie," responded Catherine.

"Let us come and sit under the elm-tree and read what he says, May." The girls seated themselves together on a rustic bench, tore open the thick letter, and acquainted themselves with its contents.
"Dearest,--I'm coming home to-morrow night.

_Must_ see the mater.
Have got into a fresh scrape.