"You haven't at any time taken in a letter for Susan, have you?"
"Not I," replied Mr. Wetherall, helping himself to another slice of bread and butter, and resuming his perusal of the paper.
"Well," said Mrs. Wetherall, "it's a very remarkable thing! How it can have got here, I can't conceive. I'm sure I never saw it."
"Did it come by the post," said Mr. Lyon.
"She don't know how it came," replied Mrs. Wetherall; "nor, indeed, is it clear that the letter was addressed to her at all. It appears to have been written to a friend of her's called Dobbs—"
"Dobbs?" said Mr. Wetherall, looking up suddenly from his paper.
"Yes, Dobbs," answered his wife—"that's the person that recommended Susan to me; she's housekeeper to a family in Parliament Street, and—"
"In Parliament Street?" reiterated Mr. Wetherall.
"Yes," replied his wife, "and there the letter was directed. But it seems Dobbs never got it nor did she know a letter had been sent, till the man who wrote it sent a second to inquire for the answer."
