He implored Mrs. Archbold to tell him what
was the cause. She shook her head and said gravely, it was but too
common; a man's nearest and dearest were very apt to hold aloof from him
the moment he was put into an asylum.
Here an old lady put in her word. "Ah, sir, you must not hope to hear
from anybody in this place. Why, I have been two years writing and
writing, and can't get a line from my own daughter. To be sure she is a
fine lady now: but it was her poor neglected mother that pinched and
pinched to give her a good education, and that is how she caught a good
husband. But it's my belief the post in our hall isn't a real post: but
only a box; and I think it is contrived so as the letters fall down a
pipe into that Baker's hands, and so then when the postman comes----"
The Archbold bent her bushy brows on this chatty personage. "Be quiet,
Mrs. Dent; you are talking nonsense, and exciting yourself: you know you
are not to speak on that topic. Take care."
The poor old woman was shut up like a knife; for the Archbold had a way
of addressing her own sex that crushed them.
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