On opening the envelope, he had discovered, to his
astonishment, that it contained nothing but a blank sheet of
notepaper. This circumstance appeared to him so suspicious (as
suggesting to his restless legal mind that the letter had been
tampered with) that he had at once written to Miss Halcombe, and
had received no answer by return of post. In this difficulty,
instead of acting like a sensible man and letting things take
their proper course, his next absurd proceeding, on his own
showing, was to pester me by writing to inquire if I knew anything
about it. What the deuce should I know about it? Why alarm me as
well as himself? I wrote back to that effect. It was one of my
keenest letters. I have produced nothing with a sharper
epistolary edge to it since I tendered his dismissal in writing to
that extremely troublesome person, Mr. Walter Hartright.
My letter produced its effect. I heard nothing more from the
lawyer.
This perhaps was not altogether surprising. But it was certainly
a remarkable circumstance that no second letter reached me from
Marian, and that no warning signs appeared of her arrival. Her
unexpected absence did me amazing good. It was so very soothing
and pleasant to infer (as I did of course) that my married
connections had made it up again.
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