" He drew another letter from his pocket, and handed it to
her.
Victoria unfolded a second note from Faversham--marked "confidential,"
and written in evident agitation.
"MY DEAR TATHAM:
"I am powerless. Let me implore you to keep Mrs. Melrose quiet! Privately
a great deal may be done for her. If she will only trust herself to me,
in my private capacity, I will see that she is properly supplied for the
future. But she will simply bring disaster on herself if she attempts to
force Melrose. She--and you--know what he is. I beg of you to be
guided--and to guide her--as I advise."
"An attempt, you see, to buy us off," said Tatham scornfully. "I propose
to take the night train from Pengarth this evening, and consult old
Fledhow to-morrow morning."
"Old Fledhow," _alias_ James Morton Fledhow, solicitor, head of one of
that small group of firms which, between them, have the great estates of
England in their pigeon-holes, had been the legal adviser of the Tatham
family for two generations. Precipitation is not the badge of his tribe;
but Victoria threw herself upon this very natural and youthful impulse,
before even it could reach "old Fledhow."
"My dear Harry, be cautious! What did Mrs. Melrose say? Of course you
showed her the letter?"
Tatham candidly admitted that he hardly knew what Mrs. Melrose had said.
The letter had thrown her into a great state of agitation, and she had
cried a good deal. "Poor papa, poor papa!" pronounced with the accent on
the first syllable, seemed to have been all that she had been able to
articulate.
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