entrusted to you for another person? Some letter, for instance?"
The color flashed into Ruth's face. She was always thinking about the note the harpist had given to her on the steamboat to take to Miss Picolet. She could not hide her trouble from the sharp eyes of Mrs. Tellingham.
"You have lost something?"
"I don't know whether I should tell you. I don't know that I have a right to tell you," Ruth stammered.
Mrs. Tellingham looked at her sharply for a minute or so, and then nodded. Then she said:
"I understand. You have been put on your honor not to tell?"
"Yes, Mrs. Tellingham. It is not my secret."
"But there is a letter to be recovered?"
"Ye-es."
"Is this it?" asked Mrs. Tellingham, suddenly thrusting under Ruth's eye a very much soiled and crumpled envelope. And it had been unsealed, Ruth could see. The superscription was to "Mademoiselle Picolet."
"It—it looks like it," Ruth whispered. "But it was sealed when I had it."
"I do not doubt it," said Mrs. Tellingham f with a shake of her head. "But the letter was given to me first, and then the envelope. The—
