"You haven't been writing a novel under a pseudonym, have you ?" She laughed as she gathered up her correspondence in her hand.
"Don't pry into my secrets," she enjoined.

"We may meet in Barnstaple to-morrow.

If the weather clears, I want to go in and see those cattle for myself." The young man took his reluctant departure.

Jane crossed the hall, entered her own little sanctum, drew the lamp to the edge of the table and sank into her easy-chair with a little sigh of relief.

All the rest of her correspondence she threw to one side.