The heavy care of life was already beginning to work furrows on her face.

She would already sit, knitting her brow, as she thought of coming troubles.

Would not her father certainly refuse?
And would not her husband then begin to be less loving and less gracious to herself?
Every day for a week he called at the post-office when he went out with her, and still the letter did not come.

"It can hardly be possible," he said at last to her, "that he should decline to answer his own daughter's letter." "Perhaps he is ill," she replied.
"If there were anything of that kind Everett would tell us." "Perhaps he has gone back to Herefordshire ?" "Of course his letter would go after him.

I own it is very singular to me that he should not write.