by Mark Twain
CHAPTER V.
No answer to that telegram; no arriving daughter. Yet nobody showed anyuneasiness or seemed surprised; that is, nobody but Washington. Afterthree days of waiting, he asked Lady Rossmore what she supposed thetrouble was. She answered, tranquilly:
"Oh, it's some notion of hers, you never can tell. She's a Sellers,all through--at least in some of her ways; and a Sellers can't tell youbeforehand what he's going to do, because he don't know himself tillhe's done it. She's all right; no occasion to worry about her. Whenshe's ready she'll come or she'll write, and you can't tell which, tillit's happened."
It turned out to be a letter. It was handed in at that moment, and wasreceived by the mother without trembling hands or feverish eagerness,or any other of the manifestations common in the case of long delayedanswers to imperative telegrams. She polished her glasses withtranquility and thoroughness, pleasantly gossiping along, the while,then opened the letter and began to read aloud: