Mac’s sitting room. The rescued Marmaduke purred in state upon Matthew’s lap, making it exceedingly difficult for him to turn the pages, although one wouldn’t know it from the fond glances Matthew kept throwing his way. After an interval of silence broken only by the rustle of papers and the crackling of the fire, Matthew spoke up. “I’d have to confess I’m terribly curious about your mysterious correspondent, she of the lavender notepaper. Or is it a he? One shouldn’t make assumptions, of course. Go on, tell me it’s just an aged uncle of the confirmed bachelor variety.” George laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Mabel really is just a friend. We played together as children.” “And now she’s like a sister to you? Or is it worse than that—is it that you’re like a brother to her?” “Don’t worry, there’s no unrequited love on either side. She… Well, she was engaged to be married to my brother, as it happens.”
