treet-car.
I just made up my mind I was going to do it. I am sixty-five,
and it is time I have a chance to do the things I like.

"I came in on the car, and came directly here. I got in with
the second key on your key-ring. Did you miss it? And I did the
strangest thing at Bellwood. I got down the stairs very quietly
and out on to the porch. I set down my empty traveling bag--I
was going to buy everything new in the city--to close the door
behind me. Then I was sure I heard some one at the side of the
house, and I picked it up and ran down the path in the dark.

"You can imagine my surprise when I opened the bag this morning
to find I had picked up Harry's. I am emptying it and taking it
with me, for he has mine.

"If you find this right away, please don't tell Sister Letitia
for a day or two. You know how firm your Aunt Letitia is. I
shall send her a present from Boston to pacify her, and perhaps
when I come back in three or four months, she will be over the
worst.

"I am not quite comfortable about your father, Margery. He is
not like himself. The last time I saw him he gave me a little
piece of paper with a number on it and he said they followed
him everywhere, and were driving him crazy. Try to have him see
a doctor. And I left a bottle of complexion cream in the little
closet over my mantel, where I had hidden my hat and shoes that
I wore. Please destroy it before your Aunt Letitia sees it.

"Good-by, my dear niece. I suppose I am growing frivolous in my
old age, but I am going to have silk linings in my clothes
before I die.

"YOUR LOVING AUNT JANE."

When Margery stopped reading, there was an amazed silence. Then we all
three burst into relieved, uncontrolled mirth. The dear, little, old
lady with her new independence and her sixty-five-year-old, romantic,
starved heart!

Then we opened the packet, which was a sadder business, for it had
represented Allan Fleming's last clutch at his waning public credit.

Edith ran to the telephone with the news for Fred, and for the first
time that day Margery and I were alone. She was standing with one hand
on the library table; in the other she held Aunt Jane's letter, half
tremulous, wholly tender. I put my hand over hers, on the table.

"Margery!" I said. She did not stir.

"Margery, I want my answer, dear. I love you--lov