After a hearty handshake the manager added: "And now I must be off to give this story to the papers." "No, no!" cried Miss March. "Not by any means," added Al. Mr. Wattles stared at them. "What do you mean?" he asked. "We mean," said Al, "that this is a private affair with which the papers have nothing to do." "But, my dear boy, think--only think--what a grand ad. it would make for the show!" "No matter; we don't want a word printed about it." "Of course not," said the actress. "I should think you would understand our feelings in the matter, Mr. Wattles." "Well, I don't," returned the manager, evidently chagrined. "I cannot, to save my life, see why you are willing to throw away such a chance for a stunning free ad. Nor"--addressing Al--"can I understand your scruples. By Jove! you are the queerest combination of impudence and modesty that I ever met. But have it your own way, my children; throw away the chance if you want to." As he was about to leave the room the old gentleman turned again, saying: "I almost forgot that I had a letter for you, Miss March. Here it is, and I think I know the handwriting." As the actress glanced at the superscription on the envelope she changed color. "It is from that wretch, Farley!" she exclaimed. "So I thought," said Mr. Wattles. "You had better look out for that man, my dear. He is, or thinks he is, desperately in love with you, and he may give you some trouble yet. If you don't mind, I should like to know the contents of that letter. Believe me, it is not from mere idle curiosity that I ask you to let me read it." "I know that, Mr. Wattles," said Miss March. "Ever since I have been in your company you have been like a father to me. You shall open the letter yourself if you will." She handed the epistle to the manager, who tore it open. As he glanced at its contents a frown appeared upon his usually cheerful countenance. "The scoundrel!" he muttered, crushing the letter in his hand; "if I ever meet him again I will thrash him within an inch of his life--I will, by Jove!" "What does he say?" the girl asked, anxiously. "It will do you no good to know the contents of this precious epistle," replied Mr. Wattles. "You had better let me destroy it." But Miss March's feminine curiosity was now aroused, and she insisted upon knowing what was in the letter. "Well, if you will have it," said the manager, resignedly, "I'll read it to you. But if you don't sleep nights for the next week or two you mustn't blame me." "Go on, go on!" The old gentleman read as follows: "GLADYS: This is to remind you that, although we are separated, I am near you. Do you remember what I told you the last time we met, that no power on earth could make me give you up? I meant what I said, I mean it still. I am not far away; you will see me sooner than you think." "Is there no signature?" asked Miss March. "None, but there can be no doubt as to the identity of the writer."