"No, my dear Don," she replied, gently, "I am very glad I came. It is not that which troubles me. It is the thought that some day it will end."

"That thought would spoil the pleasure of life itself," I said, much mollified nevertheless. "I would advise you not to become a monomaniac.

Take some of these papers and get into touch again with the planet on which we used to live."

She looked them all over, scanning the dates.

"Why, who sent you these ancient things?" she said. "The very latest is dated January 18th."

"Well, did you expect yesterday morning's?" I asked. "Have you forgotten that we are some little distance from Manhattan Island?"

She smiled at last, as the recollection of our situation with regard to news came over her, and thanking me, began to look over the papers, beginning with the day after we left. I took the next one and for some time this occupied us. When either encountered anything of general interest there was an interruption, followed by prolonged silence.

"Are you going to answer that letter of Miss Brazier's?" Miss May asked, all of a sudden.

"Why? Would you?"

"Yes; in a very formal way."

Was she attacked with incipient jealousy of this unknown one, even while she approved of her counsel?

"All right," I said. "I will let you dictate the words."

"What other letters did you get?" she inquired.

I showed them to her. She wanted to know what each contained; and when I spoke of Statia, though I did not mention her name, the same smouldering fire flashed up slightly as in Miss Brazier's case.

"Who is that lady?" she asked.

"The sister of my dearest masculine friend."

"Why does she write to you?"

"For the same reason as the other girl, to give me good advice."

She had to ask the next question.

"Is there no love affair between you?"

"Not the slightest. I did not think she would even condescend to write a line."

Miss May drew a long breath, and then, as if ashamed of the interest she had shown, buried her face in the newspaper.

"If you have finished with your cross-questionings," I remarked, "I will take a hand. Who are your letters from?"

She clung to the envelopes as if she feared I would try to wrest them from her.

"A friend," she answered, frigidly.

"Two friends, at least. One is directed in the handwriting of a man.

Now, Marjorie, I am not going to permit that sort of thing. I draw the line at male correspondents while you are travelling with me."

Hesitating an instant she laid the envelope of which I spoke in my lap.

"Read it," she said, looking me full in the eyes.

"Not unless you wish me to," I answered.

"I do wish it."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I must refuse to oblige you, for the first time, and I hope the last. I would not read that letter, under any circ.u.mstances," I replied.

"Then I will read it to you," said Miss May, and she read as follows:

Dear Marjorie:--I hope you are well and happy in that far-off land, with the gentleman who has engaged you as secretary, and that you have had no cause to regret accepting his offer. I have no great fears for you, believing that a wise girl will so conduct herself as to disarm the most persistent man, if temptation comes. If Mr.

Camwell is all you believed him when last I saw you, your journey must be a continuous delight. If he proves the contrary I shall be sorry, for he can make your path a miserable one, but my confidence in you will be unshaken.

The other girls all send love and best wishes. I shall look anxiously for the first letter from you.

Mr. Barnard, the cashier, has promised to address my envelope and put on the right stamp.

Your Friend,

HELEN.

I glanced at the writing, which was certainly that of a woman, and again at the envelope, quite as surely in the penmanship of a man.

"It is from a girl who used to write in the same office as I," said Miss May. "Now you must hear the other one."

But this I absolutely refused to do. She was putting me in a position I did not covet. I said I had some letters to write and would go to my room for awhile. Miss May did not press her point further, but said she would take the time to answer her own letters, if I did not need her.

For the next hour I pushed my pen over the stationery, replying to the missives I had received, and also sending brief notes to several of my other friends. When this was finished I went to Miss May's door to speak to her, and found her absent. Looking over the veranda railing I saw her at some distance, frolicking with Laps, the dog, apparently having recovered her spirits, which were rather low when I left her.

Glancing back into her room I noticed that a letter she had just written lay open upon the table. To save my soul I could not resist going in, taking it up and reading it. My curiosity about her was intense. There might be something in this letter, either to confirm my belief in her or to dash it to the ground. At any rate, though the act was repulsive to my nature, I could not help taking advantage of the opportunity.

Dear Helen [was the way the letter read]:--Many thanks for your sweet note. I am glad to say I can set your mind at rest at once regarding my fate. Mr. C. is one of the kindest men I ever knew. I have lost the apprehension which I had in regard to him during the first few days of our voyage and am as happy as I hoped to be when I told you of the engagement. I only wish you could have seen him before we sailed. You would not wonder I was so pleased to go, though, of course, I had to hide my feelings when talking with him about it.

I will try to describe him to you. He is rather above the medium height, four or five inches taller than I, I should think. His hair is brown. He wears a mustache, but no beard--a nearly blonde mustache that adds a charm to a sensitive and finely cut mouth. His eyes are hazel. He is slightly pale, owing to the illness of which I told you, but he has gained immensely since we started. When he smiles I never saw a more engaging countenance; when he is troubled the clouds are like those of a summer sky, and the first puff of wind blows them away.

I do not mean to tell you he is perfect in everything. He has not led the best life always, I am afraid, and with a different woman for his constant companion there might be a another story to tell.

But when he shows signs of getting unruly, I never fail to quiet him with the right word. He is a gentleman, after all, and I am sure he will never be else than that to me.

Helen, dear, I must tell you a great secret. I have all I can do to prevent myself falling head over ears in love with the man. If I were an unscrupulous young woman I believe I could make him care a great deal for me. As I look at it, such a course would be wholly disreputable. He is impulsive and might say things he would regret later in his life. So I keep my heart as quiet as I can, in his presence. He will not guess what I have confided to you and what I never shall tell to another.

If I were of his social grade--if I could have retained the position in which I was born, he would be my ideal as a husband. Such thoughts, alas! are not for