Of late she had observed that he seemed to feel as if her time and thoughts belonged exclusively to him and rather resented the approach of any other claimant. This annoyed her and suggested the idea that her affectionate interest and efforts were misunderstood by him, misrepresented and taken advantage of by Aunt Clara, who had been most urgent that she should “use her influence with the dear boy,” though the fond mother resented all other interference. This troubled Rose and made her feel as if caught in a snare, for, while she owned to herself that Charlie was the most attractive of her cousins, she was not ready to be taken possession of in this masterful way, especially since other and sometimes better men sought her favor more humbly. These thoughts were floating vaguely in her mind as she read her letters and unconsciously influenced her in the chat that followed. “Only invitations, and I can't stop to answer them now or I shall never get through this job,” she said, returning to her work. “Let me help. You do up, and I'll direct. Have a secretary, do now, and see what a comfort it will be,” proposed Charlie, who could turn his hand to anything and had made himself quite at home in the sanctum. “I'd rather finish this myself, but you may answer the notes if you will. Just regrets to all but two or three. Read the names as you go along and I'll tell you which.” “To hear is to obey. Who says I'm a 'frivolous idler' now?” And Charlie sat down at the writing table with alacrity, for these hours in the little room were his best and happiest. “Order is heaven's first law, and the view a lovely one, but I don't see any notepaper,” he added, opening the desk and surveying its contents with interest. “Right-hand drawer violet monogram for the notes, plain paper for the business letter. I'll see to that, though,” answered Rose, trying to decide whether Annabel or Emma should have the laced handkerchief. “Confiding creature! Suppose I open the wrong drawer and come upon the tender secrets of your soul?” continued the new secretary, rummaging out the delicate notepaper with masculine disregard of order. “I haven't got any,” answered Rose demurely. “What, not one despairing scrawl, one cherished miniature, one faded floweret, etc., etc.? I can't believe it, Cousin,” and he shook his head incredulously. “If I had, I certainly should not show them to you, impertinent person! There are a few little souvenirs in that desk, but nothing very sentimental or interesting.” “How I'd like to see 'em! But I should never dare to ask,” observed Charlie, peering over the top of the half-open lid with a most persuasive pair of eyes. “You may if you want to, but you'll be disappointed, Paul Pry. Lower left-hand drawer with the key in it.”