the letter to her. "Burn it, please. I wish I had not read
it."

She took it to the fire. The light of the blazing paper flashed on the
walls, and then went out.

He remained so silent that she thought he was sleeping, but when she
rose to leave the room she caught his glance, so full of dumb misery
that her heart sank. She went to her mother in the kitchen. Mrs.
Floyd was polishing a pile of knives and forks, and did not look up
until Harriet spoke.

"Mother," she said, "I am afraid something has gone wrong with Mr.
Westerfelt."

"What do you mean?" asked the old lady in alarm.

"I don't know, but he got a letter this morning, and after he read it
he seemed changed and out of heart. He gave it to me to burn, and I
never saw such a desperate look on a human face. I know it was the
letter, because before he read it he was so--so different."

"Well," said Mrs. Floyd, "it may be only some business matter that's
troubling him. Men have all sorts of things to worry about. As for
me, I've made a discovery, Harriet, at least I think I have."

"Why, mother!"

Mrs. Floyd put the knives and forks into the knife-box.

"Hettie Fergusson was here just now," she said.

"This early!" exclaimed Harriet, incredulously. "Why, mother, where
did she spend the night?"

"At home; that's the curious part about it; she has walked all that
three miles since daylight, if she didn't get up before and start
through the dark. I never could understand that girl. All the time
she was working here she puzzled me. She was so absent-minded, and
would jump and scream almost when the door would open. I am glad we
didn't need her help any longer. Sometimes I wish she had never come
to the hotel."

Harriet stared wonderingly at her mother; then she said:

"Did she want to help us again?"

Mrs. Floyd laughed significantly.

"That's what she pretended she wanted, but she didn't have no more idea
of working here than I have of flying through the air at this minute.
Harriet, she is dead crazy in love with Toot Wambush. That is the
truth about it."

"Why, mother, I can't believe it!" cried Harriet, her brow wrinkling in
perplexity. "He hardly ever went with her or talked to her."

"He took her out home with him in a buggy six or seven times to my
knowledge," declared Mrs. Floyd, "and there's no telling how often he
saw her at home. He is awfully thick with her father. I never was
fooled in a woman; she is in love with h