Excerpt: "Isabel waited till the rat-tat was repeated a second time, then she went down to the front door. Since Mrs. Macconichie and her husband were both out, and she had the house to herself, there was nothing else for her to do, unless she wished the postman to depart with the letters. As it was, when she appeared at the door, he grumbled at being delayed. "These Scotchmen are all boors," she told herself, in her bitterness. She looked at the letter which had been thrust into her hand. It was addressed to "Mr. G. Lamb". The sight of it reopened the fountains of her scorn. "They might at least have put G. Lamb, Esq. G. Lamb! What a fool I've been!" Further consideration of the envelope led her to the conclusion that it was the letter they had both been waiting for--the answer to her husband's plea for help. She pressed it between her fingers to learn, if possible by the sense of touch, what the envelope contained. "I believe there's only a letter--no cheque, nor anything. If there isn't, then we are done.""