“I should think not, Frank,” Katie said indignantly. Frank went up to town in the afternoon, and came back to dinner, looking vexed and annoyed. “Well, Frank, what news?” “I can't make head or tail of it, Katie. Captain Bradshaw is, as far as I can hear, as sensible as either you or I. Several of the men I spoke to had met him within the last day or two, and they said he seemed as usual, except, perhaps, that he had not been very lively lately. They were perfectly astounded when I asked whether anyone had noticed anything queer about him, and evidently thought I must be mad myself to ask such a thing. No, he seems all right enough, and that makes the whole affair more strange than ever. What is to be done, Katie? What do you advise?” “I should say, Frank, that you can do nothing. If he is not mad, how dare he write to you in that way? It is infamous,” Katie said, very indignantly, “and I would not condescend to take any notice of it.” “No, Katie, I can't do that. Captain Bradshaw has always been a very kind friend to me. He is an old man, dear, and I can't put up with such an accusation, and with the loss of his affection, without making at least an effort to clear up the mystery. I will write and say I have received his letter, that I really cannot conceive what he means, and that I must insist upon his explaining himself, as I have a right at least to know what my accusation is. Now, Katie, don't let us worry ourselves about it any more, it is time to dress for dinner. I will write the letter this evening, and post it in the morning. I have half a mind to go down and see him myself; but he is so awfully passionate, and my temper is not of the best, that I believe if he went on again about that absurd Alice business, which I suppose is somehow at the bottom of it all, I should say things which would make a quarrel we should never make up. No, I think writing will be the best, Katie; don't you?” “Yes, I think so, Frank; besides you know much better what your uncle is like than I can; I know I should not keep my temper with him.” “I don't think you would, Katie,” Frank laughed, “I always said you were a terrible little spitfire, you know.” CHAPTER XVI. THE INTERCEPTED LETTER.