At last only the contents of the desk remained, and Jenny thought it would be right to look carefully through these that nothing which her mother would have wished to be destroyed should be preserved for impertinent curiosity. The desk smelt strongly of the cedar-wood with which it was lined, and the perfume was powerfully evocative of the emotions of childish inquisitiveness and awe which it had once always provoked. Here were the crackling letters of the old Miss Horners, and for the first time Jenny read the full history of her proposed adoption. "Good job that idea got crushed," she thought, appalled by the profusion of religious sentiment and half annoyed by their austere prophecies and savage commentaries upon the baby Jenny. In addition to these letters there was a faded photograph of her parents in earliest matrimony and another photograph of someone she did not recognize--a man with a heavy mustache and by the look of his clothes prosperous. "Wonder who he was," Jenny speculated. "Perhaps that man who was struck on her and who she wouldn't go away with." This photograph she burned. Suddenly, at the bottom of the packet of letters, Jenny caught sight of a familiar handwriting which made her heart beat with the shock of unexpected discovery. "However on earth did that come there?" she murmured as she read the following old letter from Maurice. 422 G. R. Friday. My little darling thing, I've got to go away this week-end, but never mind, I shall see you on Tuesday, or anyway Wednesday for certain. I'll let you know at the theater. Good night, my sweet one. You know I'm horribly disappointed after all our jolly plans. But never mind, my dearest, next week it will be just as delightful. 422 kisses from Maurice.