She sat down in a straight chair (the habit of relaxing had long since failed her) and fell into thought, idly turning the pages of the book she had borrowed from Miss Duffield. A letter slipped out and fell to the floor. It had no envelope and as Mrs. Thorstad picked it up she read clearly the scrawl of writing in black, heavy masculine characters across the back of the page. It was a love letter to Margaret signed with a black sprawling male signature, “Gregory.” So Mrs. Thorstad would phrase it with a little repression of her lips. There were words of passion--there was a flavor of intimacy-- She read no more than that back page. Then, holding the letter as if it offended her, she placed it in one of Mrs. Brownley’s envelopes and addressed it to Margaret. II “Did I drive away a visitor?” asked Walter. “No--she was through with me. You’re rather a relief.” Margaret could smile with the most complete friendliness of any woman he had ever seen, thought her visitor. She lifted her head and smiled straight at you. There were no evasions in her way of showing that she was glad to see you. She didn’t hold her gladness as a prize, but made you a straight gift of it. He liked the dress she was wearing--a fawn colored cloth dress that outlined the straight lines of her figure--he liked the way her hair grew away from its boyish side parting with a little curve here and there. “I think I am a little early,” he said, looking at his watch, “but I thought since I was through at the office I’d come up, and you might be willing to come out for a ride before we dine. It’s just five o’clock.” “That sounds very nice. Sit down and amuse yourself while I get my hat.” He obeyed, finding a book which did not seem to interest him at all but which gave him a chance to turn pages while she put on her hat and piled the papers on her desk. She turned to him as she was doing that. “You spoil me.” “I’d like to spoil you.” “Spoil me by treating me like a human being--forgetting that I’m a woman and that you’ve been taught to flatter women.” “If I do that I can’t remind you that I’m a man and it might be I’d like you to think of that.” It was very light. Their tones were the perfectly controlled tones of those who have emotions thoroughly in check. But the note of seriousness was there and they were both too wise to pretend that it wasn’t. “I’m quite ready to go,” said Margaret.