istant cousin of my mother's. Perhaps you remember that on the day
you made the scene about the letter you had just emphasized your very
close friendship for Mrs. Underwood in a fashion rather embarrassing
to me. I resolved that, to speak vulgarly, 'what was sauce for the
gander,' etc., and that I would put my friendship for Jack upon the
same basis as yours for Mrs. Underwood. So when you asked me whether
or not Jack was a relative I said 'No.'"

"That makes this letter an insult both to you and to me," Dicky said
venomously, his face black with anger.

I sprang to my feet, trembling with anger.

"Be careful," I said icily. "You don't deserve an explanation, but you
shall have one, and that is the last word I shall ever speak to you
on the subject of Jack. His letter is the truth. I am his 'nearest
of kin,' save the cousins in Pennsylvania of whom he speaks. He was
orphaned in his babyhood and my mother's only sister legally adopted
him, and reared him as her own son. We were practically raised
together, for my mother and my aunt always lived near each other. Jack
was the only brother I ever knew. I the only sister he had.

"When my aunt died she left him her little property with the
understanding that he would always look after my mother and myself.
He kept his promise royally. My mother and I owed him many, many
kindnesses. God forbid that I ever am given the opportunity to claim
Jack's property. But if he should be killed"--I choked upon the
word--"I shall take it and try to use it wisely, as he would have me
do."

"Very touching, upon my word," sneered Dicky, "and very
interesting--if true." He almost spat the words out, he was so angry.

"It does not matter to me in the least whether you believe it or not,"
I returned frigidly.

Dicky jumped up with an oath. "I know it doesn't matter to you.
Nothing is of any consequence to you but this"--he ripped out an
offensive epithet. "If he is so near and dear to you, it's a wonder
you don't want to go over and bid him a fond farewell."

I was fighting to keep back the tears. As soon as I could control my
voice I spoke slowly:

"The reason why I did not go is because I thought you might not like
it. God knows, I wanted to go."

I walked steadily to my room, closed the door and locked it and fell
upon the bed, a sobbing heap.

"Where are you going?" Dicky's voice was fairly a snarl as I faced him
a little later in my street costume.

"I do not know," I replie