"It was forwarded by a private hand and never delivered, probably," said Mr. Lyon.
"Well, but the most extraordinary part of the business is," continued Mrs. Wetherall, "that Susan found the letter torn up, and partly consumed, lying under the grate. Look, my dear Wetherall, you're dipping the paper into the slop basin."
"She must have been very much gratified with the warmth of the epistle," said Mr. Lyon, facetiously. "But it's really singular."
"It certainly is," answered Mrs. Wetherall. "How it should have come here being directed to Parliament Street, and who could have taken it in, I can't make out. My dear Wetherall, do come and finish your tea; you've no time to lose. What are you looking out of the window at?"
"He's looking for the lost letter," said Mr. Lyon.
"You don't know how late it is," said Mrs. Wetherall. But Mr. Wetherall, with his body stretched half out of the window, paid no attention to the summons.
"What the devil are you looking at?" said Mr. Lyon, giving his host a smart slap on the shoulder, and thrusting his own head out to ascertain what was to be seen.
