"_Dear Mrs. Meredith.--I am sending you the few trinkets which James gave to me in happier days. They are all that I have of his, and you, as a woman, will realise that whilst the possession of them brings me many unhappy memories, yet they have been a certain comfort to me. I wish I could dispose of memory as easily as I send these to you (for I feel they are really your property) but more do I wish that I could recall and obliterate the occasion which has made Mr. Glover so bitter an enemy of mine._ "_Thinking over the past, I see that I was at fault, but I know that you will sympathise with me when the truth is revealed to you. A young girl, unused to the ways of men, perhaps I attached too much importance to Mr. Glover's attentions, and resented them too crudely. In those days I thought it was unpardonable that a man who professed to be poor James's best friend, should make love to his fiancée, though I suppose that such things happen, and are endured by the modern girl. A man does not readily forgive a woman for making him feel a fool--it is the one unpardonable offence that a girl can commit. Therefore, I do not resent his enmity as much as you might think. Believe me, I feel for you very much in these trying days. Let me say again that I hope your future will be bright._" She blotted the letter, put it in an envelope, and addressed it, and taking down a book from one of the well-stocked shelves, drew her chair to the fire, and began reading. Mr. Briggerland came in an hour after, looked over her shoulder at the title, and made a sound of disapproval. "I can't understand your liking for that kind of book," he said. The book was one of the two volumes of "Chronicles of Crime," and she looked up with a smile. "Can't you? It's very easily explained. It is the most encouraging work in my collection. Sit down for a minute." "A record of vulgar criminals," he growled. "Their infernal last dying speeches, their processions to Tyburn--phaugh!" She smiled again, and looked down at the book. The wide margins were covered with pencilled notes in her writing. "They're a splendid mental exercise," she said. "In every case I have written down how the criminal might have escaped arrest, but they were all so vulgar, and so stupid. Really the police of the time deserve no credit for catching them. It is the same with modern criminals...." She went to the shelf, and took down two large scrap-books, carried them across to the fire, and opened one on her knees. "Vulgar and stupid, every one of them," she repeated, as she turned the leaves rapidly. "The clever ones get caught at times," said Briggerland gloomily.