"How do you know?" said Letitia, looking down and picking at the gold arabesques on her dress. "Mortimer told me last night. He made me swear I wouldn't tell a living soul. You must remember that, by the way, or I'll get into trouble. Mortimer saw Colonel Reed in the office the other day, and that red-haired clerk, the one John took in because his mother was crazy or consumptive or something, told Mortimer Colonel Reed came there often, and that John went out to see him at his home somewhere near South Park. Doesn't that beat the band? John going calling in South Park on Colonel Reed's daughter, and then pretending to us that he doesn't know her! If John knew the man had said anything about it, he'd kick him down all the stairs in the building, if they reached from here to the ferry." Letitia was silent. She thought of the conversation on Sunday, and the woman who had been the heroine of the novel. All the sunshine seemed to go out of the afternoon, and the innocent joy she had taken in putting on her beautiful clothes suddenly shriveled up and vanished. "He might go out there and see Colonel Reed's daughter and not tell us about it," she said, "and yet not--not be exactly in love with her." "Dear me, Letitia," said her sister, pettishly, "what a dunce you are! Do you suppose John's going to drag himself over to South Park to see Colonel Reed's daughter because he's taken a philanthropic interest in her father? One would think you'd been raised in Oshkosh or Milpitas, to hear the things you sometimes say. But that's not all. This morning I was in the Woman's Exchange, and who should be there but old Biddy McCormick herself. I can't endure her, you know, especially since she's got this little prince-creature up her sleeve; but I'm always polite to her because of Tod and you--and things generally. You never can tell what may happen. And I heard her say, 'Not that jam; I always buy the same kind--Miss Viola Reed's.' So I up and said, as innocent as Mary's little lamb, 'Do tell me, Mrs. McCormick, what jam that is you're buying. Everything you have is always so delicious.' And she said, 'It's some that's made by a woman named Reed, who lives across town somewhere.' Then, when she'd gone, I corralled the girl, and she told me it was made by a Miss Viola Reed, who lives--" Mrs. Gault opened her jeweled card-case and produced a slip of paper with an address written on it. She handed this to Letitia, and said with an air of triumph: "That's where she lives. Now you'll have to admit, Miss Letitia Mason, that there are no flies on your little sister!" Letitia looked at the address and gave it back. "No," said her sister; "you keep it. That's my little scheme. You're to go there now--this afternoon--and order jam. Do you see?" "But I don't want any jam, and you never eat it."