"Flatter a woman with all sorts of intimate original compliments,—not spoken, so that she would have to blush, deny, and reprove; but written, so that she could read and reread them in secret as often as she liked,—arouse her curiosity, a powerful ally; her sense of the romantic, a still stronger one, and finally unmask yourself as the adorer;—I don't know that it's so bad a way, after all."
"Unless you try it on a woman who shows all the letters to her husband," said Valeska dryly.
"Yes; but how's the writer to know she will? He's probably conceited enough to think she won't."
"There's one other way of discovering the writer,—find a Rem-Smith typewriter with an alignment imperfect in just this way."
"Yes," said Astro. "We might begin and fine-tooth-comb the city for it. Still, accidents do happen, luckily for prophets and seers. And, at any rate, that will be the final proof. Well, I'm going to reread the whole bunch, look for some unifying theory and then call on the lady. I confess I'm curious to see her."
Mrs. Stellery, he was to find, was a woman of by no means an obvious type. Outwardly, it is true, she manifested social grace and experience, was handsome rather than beautiful, with a dark serious face and finely-chiseled features. One would call her aristocratic in looks and manner, and yet behind the conventional aspects in which she showed herself in company, a keen observer would note subtlety after subtlety. That she had a fine mind and a fearless one, was occasionally proved by the flashes of wit and per-
