She would have been hurried in her movements, of course, and in pulling off her glove to use the fountain pen the ring had come with it.

The rest was obvious.

She had but just begun to write when he had appeared on the steps.

She had slipped instantly down to the floor of the car, probably dropping the glove from her lap, hastily inclosed the letter in the envelope which she had no time to seal, thrust the envelope under the rug, and, forgetting her glove and fearful of risking his attention by attempting to close the door firmly, had stolen along the body of the car, only to be noticed by him too late--when she was well down the street! And at that latter thought, once more chagrin seized Jimmie Dale--then he turned impulsively to the letter.

All this was extraneous, apart--for another time, when every moment was not a priceless asset as it very probably was now.
"Dear Philanthropic Crook"-- it always began that way, never any other way.