lishers themselves not being aware that my name is assumed, I shall rely upon your betraying only to your aunt, the fact that I am sailing under false colors.
"Under which circumstances, it is with unfeigned contrition that I continue to sign myself,
"How's that?" asked John, who had been drumming the table during my thoughtful perusal of the letter.
"I should think that would settle the matter," said I.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't think you will hear from them again."
"It doesn't sound rude, I hope."
"Rude! Quite the contrary. In fact I think it sounds a little chivalrous for a woman. But they won't suspect anything. And anyhow you certainly have not left the sign of an opening for another letter."
"How about the handwriting?"
"That smallish literary hand hasn't
