I find on my writing-table a letter addressed in a round childish hand.
It is from Carlotta, who for the last fortnight has been staying in Cornwall with the McMurrays.

I have known few fortnights so long.

In a ridiculous schoolboy way I have been counting the days to her return--the day after to-morrow.
The letter begins: "Seer Marcous dear." The spelling is a little jest between us.

The inversion is a quaint invention of her own.

"Mrs.
McMurray says, can you spare me for one more week?
She wants to teach me manners.