I sighed, half-resentfully, as I tore it open. Under any other circumstances it would have marked such a red-letter day in my life. I knew what it was. The first love-letter I had ever received. Of course, from Mr. Reginald Brace. He writes from what used to be "Next Door," in Putney, S.W. He says: "MY DEAR MISS LOVELACE:--I wanted to put 'Beatrice,' since I know that is your beautiful name, but I did not wish to offend you. I am afraid that I was much too precipitate to-night when I told you of the feeling I have had for you ever since I first saw you. As I told you, I know this is the greatest presumption on my part. Had it not been for the very exceptional circumstances I should not have ventured to say anything at all----" Oh, dear! I wish this didn't remind me of the Honourable Jim's remark, "Curious idea, to put in a deaf-and-dumb chap as manager of a bank!" For he is really so good and straight and frank. I call this such a nice letter. Oh, dear, what am I to say to it? "But as it is" (he goes on) "I could do nothing but take my chance and beg you to consider if you could possibly care for me a little. May I say that I adore you, and that the rest of my life should be given up to doing anything in the world to secure your happiness? Had I a sister----" Good heavens! His non-existent sister is cropping up again! "Had I a sister or a mother living, they would come over at once to wait on you; but I am a man literally alone in the world. I live with an old uncle who is practically an invalid. I hope you will not mind my calling upon you to-morrow, about lunch-time, when I hope so much that you in your sweetness and kindness may find it in your heart to give me another answer to the one I had to hear to-night. "Yours ever devotedly, "REGINALD BRACE." Yes! A charming letter, I call it. I do, indeed. And he--the writer of it--is charming--that is, he's good, and "white," as men call it, which is so much more, so much better than being "charming," which, I suppose, people can't help, any more than they can help having corncockle-blue eyes with black lashes--or whatever kind of eyes they may happen to possess. Mr. Brace's own eyes are very pleasant. So honest. It was horrid of me to be ruffled and snappy to him when he came last night; cattish of me to begin thinking of him as a Puritan and a prude and a prig. He's nothing of the sort. It was only kind of him to come and try to warn me. And, as it turns out, Mr. Brace was perfectly right about all these people being no fit companions for a young and inexperienced girl.... Which reminds me! Only a few days ago I was considering this Mr. Brace as a possible suitor for Million herself! Why, I'd quite forgotten that. And now here he is lavishing offers of a life's devotion upon me, Miss Million's maid.