y
acquaintance! An amazing letter! Naturally, I left it unanswered--the only
dignified thing to do. But the fellow wrote again, asking if I had received
his proposal. I now replied, briefly and severely, asking him, first, how
he came to know my name; secondly, what reason I had given him for
supposing that I desired to meet him again. His answer to this was even
more outrageous than the first offence. He bluntly informed me that in
order to discover my name and address he had followed us home that day from
Paddington Station! As if this was not bad enough, he went on to--really,
Rose, I feel I must apologise to you, but the fact is I seem to have no
choice but to tell you what he said. The fellow tells me, really, that he
wants to know _me_ only that he may come to know _you_! My first idea was
to go with this letter to the police. I am not sure that I shan't do so
even yet; most certainly I shall if he writes again. The man may be
crazy--he may be dangerous. Who knows but he may come lurking about the
house? I felt obliged to warn you of this unpleasant possibility.'

Rose was stirring her tea; also she was smiling. She continued to stir and
to smile, without consciousness of either performance.

'You make light of it?' exclaimed her father solemnly.

'O father, of course I am sorry you have had this annoyance.'

So little was there of manifest sorrow in the girl's tone and countenance
that Mr. Whiston gazed at her rather indignantly. His pregnant pause gave
birth to one of those admonitory axioms which had hitherto ruled his
daughter's life.

'My dear, I advise you never to trifle with questions of propriety. Could
there possibly be a better illustration of what I have so often said--that
in self-defence we are bound to keep strangers at a distance?'

'Father'

Rose began firmly, but her voice failed.

'You were going to say, Rose?'

She took her courage in both hands.

'Will you allow me to see the letters?'

'Certainly. There can be no objection to that.'

He drew from his pocket the three envelopes, held them to his daughter.
With shaking hand Rose unfolded the first letter; it was written in clear
commercial character, and was signed 'Charles James Burroughs.' When she
had read all, the girl said quietly--

'Are you quite sure, father, that these letters are impertinent?'

Mr. Whiston stopped in the act of finger-combing his beard.

'What doubt can there be of it?'

'They seem to me,' proceeded