ally, coming to
Martha's side. "Perhaps I know him."

"His name is--but there, it doesn't matter." Martha turned away and put
both letter and hundred-dollar bill into her handbag.

"It does matter," cried Aunt Jane, indignation and curiosity battling
for supremacy. "This is a very serious thing. If a strange man sends a
young girl hundreds of dollars, why, he must be crazy about you. Did he
send you anything else?"

"A few trifles--some jewelry."

"Has he asked you to marry him?"

"What nonsense," laughed Martha. "He has only asked me to dinner."

"You must not go, Martha," said Aunt Jane, decisively. "You know Mr.
Clayton wouldn't like you to take dinner with other gentlemen."

"Then why doesn't Mr. Clayton take me to dinner himself?" she cried
passionately.

"Mr. Clayton has other things to do."

"Then he must not blame me if I dine with some one else."

"I refuse to let you go, Martha."

"And how will you keep me, please?" demanded Martha, petulantly, not
because she really desired to break her covenant with her self-appointed
backer, but merely to see what steps he might take if she gave evidence
of breaking her parole. "Will you lock all the doors and keep me a
prisoner?"

"Never mind," replied Aunt Jane. "Is this unknown admirer coming here to
see you, or did you send him word to meet you on the street corner?"

"I sent him word to come here," replied Martha, indignantly. "I have no
need to meet him elsewhere. I have nothing to be ashamed of."

[Illustration: "I REFUSE TO LET YOU GO MARTHA."]

"Very well, then," retorted Aunt Jane, going toward the library, as the
back parlor was ambitiously named. "I'll telephone Mr. Clayton and say I
wash my hands of you. If he wants to keep an eye on you, he will have to
do it himself after to-night. I'll send for him at once."

"You'll send for him?" cried Martha, gladly.

"I'll telephone him to come as fast as a taxi can bring him," declared
Mrs. Anderson. "I guess that will bring you to your senses."

"I hope it does," murmured Martha, softly, burying her face in the
fragrant flowers. And to herself she added: "I wonder if he'll come?"

"Come right in, Mr. Zinsheimer," cried the shrill voice of Pinkie
Lexington in the outer hall. "I saw you clear across the street and
hurried down the back way," she continued, leading him into the parlor.
"Flossie has just gone out, but maybe, if you wait, she'll come back
soon."

"Well, I don't mind if I do," declar