“Yes, papa,” she answered quietly, not anticipating trouble. “I’m sorry I could not see you earlier,” said Alexander Junior, coming forward and fixing his steely eyes on his daughter’s face. “But I hadn’t an opportunity, because I was told that you were asleep when I came home. This morning, as I was leaving the house as usual, a messenger put this letter into my hands. It has a special delivery stamp on it, and you will see that the mark on the dial edge stands at eight forty-five A.M. Consequently, the boy who brought it was dilatory in doing his duty. It is addressed to you in John Ralston’s handwriting.” “Why didn’t you send it up to me, instead of keeping it all day?” enquired Katharine, with cold surprise. “Because I do not intend that you shall read it,” answered her father, his lips opening and shutting on the words like the shears of a cutting-machine. Mrs. Lauderdale turned round from the mirror and looked at her husband and daughter. It would have been impossible to tell from her face whether she had been warned of what was to be done or not, but there was an odd little gleam in her eyes, of something which might have been annoyance or satisfaction. “Why don’t you intend me to read my letters?” asked Katharine in a lower tone. “I don’t wish you to correspond with John Ralston,” answered Alexander Junior. “You shall never marry him with my consent, especially since he has disgraced himself publicly as he did yesterday. There was an account of his doings in the morning papers. I daresay you’ve not seen it. He was taken home last night in a state of beastly intoxication by two policemen, having been picked up by them out of a drunken brawl with a prize-fighter. To judge from the handwriting of the address on this letter, it appears to have been written while he was still under the influence of liquor. I don’t mean that my daughter shall receive letters written by drunken men, if I can help it.” “Show me the letter,” said Katharine, quietly. “I’ll show it to you because, though you’ve never had any reason to doubt my statements, I wish you to have actually seen that it has not been opened by me, nor by any one. My judgment is formed from the handwriting solely, but I may add that it is impossible that a man who was admittedly in a state of unconsciousness from liquor at one o’clock in the morning, should be fit to write a letter to Katharine Lauderdale, or to any lady, within six hours. The postmark on the envelope is seven-thirty. Am I right?” He turned deliberately to Mrs. Lauderdale. “Perfectly,” she answered, with sincere conviction.