Mr. Barton for you, with an education like his, and money like his, and a purple automobile to let you ride in like his, and just church-like thoughts like his, when I get to thinking of you at night, Rebecca."
Another ruled pencil line interrupted the letter here. Reba was glad. It gave her a chance to rest a second and get her breath. She was glad, too, that the letter continued in black ink. There was something about the very color of the purple sentences that was disturbing.
"I began this a month ago," it went on, "but I was afraid it might not please you, and I want to please you. But it's like this, we made a port unexpected, and I've got a sudden chance to send a letter ashore, in a hurry, to catch a boat going north, so I hope you'll excuse all mistakes in spelling and grammar, and different ink. The black ink was Mr. Barton's fountain pen, and the purple was some I got from the first mate, late one night when I got to thinking of you about midnight. Please excuse my putting Mrs. Cawthorne on the envelope, if it offends you. I didn't think any one would see it, and I want you to know I think of you like that sometimes, if you don't object. "And hoping this finds you well, I remain
Reba read this letter three times in all, and afterward sat long in her chair staring fixedly out the window at a merrily spinning chimney-pot, while the dim, vague specter of her marriage swooped round about her.
Who was this strange man, anyhow, who signed
