ve the next day at luncheon-time. Past experience told me that
this meant a demand on my aunt's housekeeping for all the good things
that it could produce. (Ah, dear! I thought of Madame Pratolungo and the
Mayonnaise. Will those times never come again?) Well--at dinner, I
announced Grosse's visit; adding significantly, "at luncheon-time."

My aunt looked up from her plate with a little start--not interested, as
I was prepared to hear, in the serious question of luncheon, but in the
opinion which my medical adviser was likely to give of the state of my
health.

"I am anxious to hear what Mr. Grosse says about you to-morrow," the old
lady began. "I shall insist on his giving me a far more complete report
of you than he gave last time. The recovery of your sight appears to me,
my dear, to be quite complete."

"Do you want me to be cured, aunt, because you want to get away?" I
asked. "Are you weary of Ramsgate?"

Miss Batchford's quick temper flashed at me out of Miss Batchford's
bright old eyes.

"I am weary of keeping a letter of yours," she answered, with a look of
disgust.

"A letter of mine!" I exclaimed.

"Yes. A letter which is only to be given to you, when Mr. Grosse
pronounces that you are quite yourself again."

Oscar--who had not taken the slightest interest in the conversation thus
far--suddenly stopped, with his fork half way to his mouth; changed
color; and looked eagerly at my aunt.

"What letter?" I asked. "Who gave it to you? Why am I not to see it until
I am quite myself again?"

Miss Batchford obstinately shook her head three times, in answer to those
three questions.

"I hate secrets and mysteries," she said impatiently. "This is a secret
and a mystery--and I long to have done with it. That is all. I have said
too much already. I shall say no more."

All my entreaties were of no avail. My aunt's quick temper had evidently
led her into committing an imprudence of some sort. Having done that, she
was now provokingly determined not to make bad worse. Nothing that I
could say would induce her to open her lips on the subject of the
mysterious letter. "Wait till Mr. Grosse comes to-morrow." That was the
only reply I could get.

As for Oscar, this little incident appeared to have an effect on him
which added immensely to the curiosity that my aunt had roused in me.

He listened with breathless attention while I was trying to induce Miss
Batchford to answer my questions. When I gave it up, he p