They had only just gone when Lucy came in and asked for her father. She looked sweet and dainty in a white gown with a wide white hat tied under her chin, her curls clustering around a face all aglow with warm browns and rich reds. The clerk who pressed forward with pleased alacrity to answer her question was one of her ardent admirers. Mr. Bancroft had just gone out, probably for only a few minutes; wouldn't she wait? It was of no consequence, she said; she only wished to see if he had any mail for her. But she looked disappointed, and the clerk suggested that as he had left his office door unlocked she might go in and wait. She saw a pile of unopened letters on her father's desk and glanced through it, finding two for Miss Dent and one for herself. "I'll just sit here and read mine," she thought, "and maybe daddy will be back by that time." A little gust of wind came through the open window, blowing a sheet of paper from the desk to the floor. Her eye caught the signature as she picked it up. "Curtis Conrad!" she read. "Oh, how like him his writing looks!" she exclaimed, a wave of color surging into her cheeks. "Why, it seems as if I just knew it would be like this! How easy it is to read!" She was looking at the letter, her attention absorbed in the fact that it had come from Conrad's own hand, when Delafield's name stood out from the other words. "Delafield! Sumner L. Delafield! I remember that name. It's the name of the man that ruined his father--why, it's a receipt for that money! How does daddy happen to have it?" Her eyes ran eagerly along the lines. "It's just like him! I'm glad he wouldn't take the money! What a horrid, wicked man that Delafield must be! I wonder how daddy happens to have this letter, when it was written to Tremper & Townsend, in Boston!" Her glance fell on the torn envelope bearing the imprint of the Boston firm, addressed to her father, and thence to their letter beside it. With mind intent upon the bewildering problem her eyes rushed over the brief missive: "As you requested, we deposited your check for five hundred dollars to our account, and forwarded our check for the same amount to Mr. Curtis Conrad. We enclose his letter in receipt, which he evidently wishes sent on to you." Lucy dropped the sheet of paper and sprang to her feet, her mind awhirl with protest. No, no! this could not be meant for her father--he was not Delafield--it was impossible! But--something clutched at her throat, and her head swam. She must go home; she must think out the puzzle. Sudden unwillingness to meet her father seized her. He must not know she had been there, that she had seen anything. She was not yet thinking coherently, only feeling that she had thoughtlessly surprised some secret, which had sprung out at her like a jack-in-the-box, and that she must give no sign of having seen its face.