At first his brother, who was greatly averse to going out, had asked him to post his letters; business letters they seemed to be, for they were addressed to business firms in New York, London, and Paris, with all of which Arthur had relations.

But one morning when Frank went as usual to his brother's room asking if there was any mail to be taken to the office, Arthur, who was just finishing a letter, replied: 'No, thank you, I will post this myself.

I have been writing to Gretchen.' 'Yes, to Gretchen ?' Frank said, quickly, as he advanced nearer to the writing desk, hoping to see the address on the envelope.
But Arthur must have suspected his motive, for he at once turned over the envelope and kept his hand upon it, while Frank said to him: 'Is she in London now ?' 'No; she was never in London,' was the curt reply, and then, turning suddenly, Arthur faced his brother and said: 'Why are you so curious about Gretchen?
It is enough for you to know that the is the sweetest, truest little girl that ever lived.

When she comes I shall tell you everything, but not before.

You have tried to prove me crazy; have said I was full of cranks; perhaps I am, and Gretchen is one of them, but it does not harm you, so leave me in peace, if you wish for peace yourself.' There was a menacing look in Arthur's eyes which Frank did not like, and he retreated from the room, resolved to say no more to him of Gretchen, whose arrival he again began to look for and dread.