she read her letters
and unconsciously influenced her in the chat that followed.

"Only invitations, and I can't stop to answer them now or I shall never
get through this job," she said, returning to her work.

"Let me help. You do up, and I'll direct. Have a secretary, do now, and
see what a comfort it will be," proposed Charlie, who could turn his
hand to anything and had made himself quite at home in the sanctum.

"I'd rather finish this myself, but you may answer the notes if you
will. Just regrets to all but two or three. Read the names as you go
along and I'll tell you which."

"To hear is to obey. Who says I'm a 'frivolous idler' now?" And Charlie
sat down at the writing table with alacrity, for these hours in the
little room were his best and happiest.

"Order is heaven's first law, and the view a lovely one, but I don't see
any notepaper," he added, opening the desk and surveying its contents
with interest.

"Right-hand drawer violet monogram for the notes, plain paper for the
business letter. I'll see to that, though," answered Rose, trying to
decide whether Annabel or Emma should have the laced handkerchief.

"Confiding creature! Suppose I open the wrong drawer and come upon the
tender secrets of your soul?" continued the new secretary, rummaging out
the delicate notepaper with masculine disregard of order.

"I haven't got any," answered Rose demurely.

"What, not one despairing scrawl, one cherished miniature, one faded
floweret, etc., etc.? I can't believe it, Cousin," and he shook his head
incredulously.

"If I had, I certainly should not show them to you, impertinent
person! There are a few little souvenirs in that desk, but nothing very
sentimental or interesting."

"How I'd like to see 'em! But I should never dare to ask," observed
Charlie, peering over the top of the half-open lid with a most
persuasive pair of eyes.

"You may if you want to, but you'll be disappointed, Paul Pry. Lower
left-hand drawer with the key in it."

"'Angel of goodness, how shall I requite thee? Interesting moment, with
what palpitating emotions art thou fraught!'" And, quoting from the
"Mysteries of Udolpho," he unlocked and opened the drawer with a tragic
gesture.

"Seven locks of hair in a box, all light, for 'here's your straw color,
your orange tawny, your French crown color, and your perfect yellow'
Shakespeare. They look very familiar, and I fancy I know the heads they
thatched."

"Yes, you all gave m