Lifting the cover of the candy box, she took from it a large square envelope, which for safe keeping, perhaps, she had placed under the lace paper that lined it. "What next?" thought Amy. "If the letter is from either Fritz or Taps, I wonder if she'll venture to read it." Then Martine, with the utmost unconcern, opened the envelope, saying as she did so: "It's from Mrs. Blair; you know she's a cousin of mamma's, and she often gives me good advice; I suppose this letter is full of it. That's one reason I left it to read on the train. I knew it would keep till then; and, after all, I entirely forgot it." "Mrs. Blair would feel complimented," interposed Amy. "Oh, she knows me; I never hide my feelings." "Do you ever try?" "Yes, my dear Mrs. Redmond; I've never dared let you know just how much I care for you." Thus effectually silenced, Mrs. Redmond waited for Martine to read her letter. "You ought to like Mrs. Blair," said Amy, for Martine still held the opened envelope in her hand without attempting to read its contents. "Why?" "Because she has style, Martine, and you generally put that before everything else; but read your letter, I would like to hear where they are, for I am always interested in Edith's doings." "Yes, yes," yet Martine did not take the letter from the envelope; "but people need something besides style. I get so out of patience with Mrs. Blair when she and mamma are together. She always has the air of disapproving of mamma for having married a western man. She makes me think of the New Yorker who said to a Chicago woman, 'How can you bear to live so far away?' 'Away? From what?' asked the other. And the New Yorker couldn't say a word." "But that isn't like Mrs. Blair, for she always has a word ready for everything. Do read your letter, Martine," continued Amy. So Martine glanced hastily over the pages, making comments as she read. "Oh, it's a kind of duty letter. She wants me to think it a great privilege that you have allowed me to travel with you this summer. She seems to have an especially high regard for you, Priscilla. I won't flatter you by reading what she says. Oh, yes, and she wants to give me some bad news. She has seen mamma at Carlsbad and thinks her looking very miserable. Well, that's about all, except that she wishes Edith cared more for Europe." "Yes," interposed Amy, "Edith was very anxious to go West this summer with Philip and Pamela; they're having a fine trip over the Canadian Rockies." Martine evidently was not listening to Amy. Her face wore an expression of great bewilderment, and then, with an exclamation of surprise she thrust the letter into Amy's hand: "Read it," she cried; "isn't it extraordinary?" and she pointed to the signature. "'Audrey Balfour Blair!' Did you know that was her name?" "Why, I'm not sure," responded Amy. "I never had a letter from Mrs. Blair." "Nor I," responded Martine, "though Edith often writes to me."