ou want me, I'll be here from half past
two to four, when I go for bridge." With the air of a Christian martyr
she betook herself to the seclusion of her own rooms.

Dorothy suffered herself to be dressed as she opened her mail. Aunt
Lydia had diagnosed it with almost psychic exactness, and its mystery
had ceased to be interesting. Last of all she opened a plain envelope
with typewritten directions. The enclosure, also typewritten, gave a
first impression of an announcement of a special sale, or request for
assistance from some charitable organization. Idly she glanced at it,
flipped it over, and found it to be unsigned. A word or two caught her
attention. She turned back, and read:

Miss DOROTHY MARTEEN:

"That the sins of the parents should be visited upon
the children is, perhaps, hard. But we feel it time for
you to understand thoroughly your situation, in order
that you may determine what your future is to be. You
have been reared all your life on stolen, or what is worse,
extorted money. We hope you have not inherited the
callous nature of your mother, and that this information
will not leave you unashamed. Not a gown you have
worn, nor a possession you have enjoyed, but has been
yours through theft. That you may verify this statement,
open the steel safe, back of the second panel of the
library wall to the left of the fireplace. The combination
is, 2.2.9.6.0. A button on the inner edge on the
right releases a spring, opening a second compartment,
where the material of your future luxuries is stored. A
look will be sufficient. I hardly think you will then
care to occupy the position in the lime light to which
you have been brought by such means. Obscurity is
better--perhaps,
even exile. Talk it over with your
mother. We think she will agree with us.

The words danced before Dorothy's eyes, a sudden stopping of the heart,
a hot flush, a painful dizziness that was at once physical and mental,
made her clutch at the table for support. She dropped the letter, and
stood staring at it, fascinated, as in a nightmare.

An anonymous letter, a cruel, hateful, wicked atrocity! Why should she
receive such a thing? she, who never in her whole life, had wished
anyone ill. It couldn't be so. She had misread, misunderstood. She
picked up the message and looked at it again. It was surely intended for
her, th