"Well, yes, I have," she returned emphatically. "A great deal. Would you, Betty, want any one to see such a letter written by yourself?" "I suppose I could write a letter which I should want but one person in all the world to see," returned Betty, arching her eyebrows. "To whom would it be directed, Betty?" I asked, to tease her. A faint expression of reproach came to her eyes, but after a moment of pretty hesitancy, she answered boldly:-- "Since you are so unwise as to ask, I'll answer in like folly. The letter could be directed to but one person in the world--you." I had received more than I had expected, and though I longed to make a suitable return, I dared not for the sake of my vows, so we all remained silent, and somewhat embarrassed, for a minute or two. Turning to Frances, I said: "If you don't want me to read your letter, I'll give you the key, and you may make it into cipher." But after examining the key, she declared that she could never learn to use it, and I suggested that she write a shorter letter in terms fit for a modest man to read. The next day she handed me a shorter letter, saying that she had cut and pruned it till there was nothing left worth sending, but I assured her that George would think otherwise. When I read the letter, my eyes were opened to the fact that there was more fire in Frances's heart than I had supposed any woman capable of holding in subjection. But that is a mistake often made by men. This was my cousin's "cut and pruned" letter:-- "DEAR ONE: "Baron Ned says my letter must be short, so I smother what remnant of modesty I have, covering nothing with the veil of circumlocution, but telling you plainly what I know you want to hear. I love only you and am true to you in every thought, word, and deed. I long for you, yearn for you, pray for you, and be your fortune good or ill, I would share it and give you a part of the bliss of life which you would give to me. "So I pray you, do not desert me in case your present hope of good fortune fails you, but let me know at any time, and I will go to you, and will go with you wherever you will take me. "You will say, I fear, that none but a crazy woman would write such a letter as this, but if that be true, the world doubtless is and always has been populated by maniacs, and I pray God always will be. I pray you, remember, in judging me, that you are you and that I am but a woman by whom the good or evil of life is reckoned in the measure of her love; her joy or misery being only a matter of down weight or light weight more in the love she gives than in that which she receives. Remember, also, that in this letter I must condense when I might easily be prolix, and that after all is written, probably I shall have left unsaid the very thing I most wished to say. But these three words will tell it all and bear repeating: I love you. "FRANCES." And this from my sensible cousin! What would it be if her heart were not balanced by a wise head?