Part 26 (1/2)

”I said I did, dear--after a fas.h.i.+on--and so I do.”

”In that case I should think a good deal would depend upon the fas.h.i.+on.

Look here. It's addressed--_Miss Strange._ That's his writing. That's how he scribbles his name. And there's something written in tiny, tiny letters in the corner. What is it?” Without touching the envelope she bent down to see. ”It's _The Wild Olive_. Now, what in this world can that mean? That's not business, anyhow. That means something.”

”No, that's not business, but I haven't an idea what it means.” Miriam was glad to be able to disclaim something. ”It was probably on the envelope by accident. Some clerk wrote it, and Mr. Strange didn't notice it.”

Evie let the explanation pa.s.s, while continuing to stare at the object of her suspicions.

”That's not papers,” she said, at last, pointing as she spoke to something protruding between the rubber bands. ”There's something in there. It looks like a”--she hesitated to find the right article--”it looks like a card-case.”

”Perhaps it is,” Miriam agreed. ”But I'm sure I don't know why he should bring me a card-case.”

”Why don't you look?”

”I wasn't in a hurry; but you can look yourself if you want to.”

Evie took offence. ”I'm sure I don't want to. That's the last thing.”

”I wish you would. Then you'd see.”

”I only do it under protest,” she declared--”because you force me to.” She took up the envelope, and began to unloose the rubber bands. ”_The Wild Olive_” she quoted, half to herself. ”Ridiculous! I should think clerks might have something better to do than write such things as that--on envelopes--on people's business.” But her indignation turned to surprise when a small flat thing, not unlike a card-case, certainly, tumbled out.

”What in the name of goodness--?”

Only strong self-control kept Miriam from darting forward to s.n.a.t.c.h it from the floor. She remembered it at once. It was a worn red leather pocket-book, which she had last seen when it was fresh and new--sitting in the sunset, on the heights above Champlain, and looking at the jewelled sea. A card fell from it, on which there was something written. Evie dropped on one knee to pick it up. Miriam was sorry to risk anything, but she felt constrained to say, as quietly as possible:

”You'd better not read that, dear. It might be private.”

Evie slipped the card back into the pocket-book, which she threw on the table, where Miriam let it lie. ”I won't look at anything else,” Evie said, with dignity, turning away.

”I want you to,” Miriam said, authoritatively. ”I beg you to.”

Thus commanded, Evie drew forth a flat doc.u.ment, on which she read, in ornamental letters, the inscription, _New York, Toronto, and Great Lakes Railroad Company_. She unfolded it slowly, looking puzzled.

”It's nothing but a lot of little square things,” she said, with some disdain.

”The little square things are called coupons, if you know what they are.”

”I know they're things people cut--when they have a lot of money. I don't know why they cut them; and still less do I know why he should be bringing them to you.”

Miriam had a sudden inspiration that made her face beam with relief.

”I'll tell you why he brought them to me, dear--though I do it under protest, as you say yourself. Your curiosity forces my hand, and makes me show it ahead of time. He brought them to me because it's a wedding-present for you. When you get married--or begin to get married--you can have all that money for your trousseau.”

”Aunt Helen is going to give me my trousseau. She said so.”

”Then you can have it for anything you like--for house-furnis.h.i.+ngs or a pearl necklace. You know you wanted a pearl necklace--and there's plenty for a nice one. Each of those papers is worth a thousand dollars, or nearly. And there are--how many?”

”Three. You seem very keen on getting rid of them.”