With a smile that betrayed unusual interest, the daughter of the Texas statesman read that letter on Thursday morning in her room at the Carlton.

There was no question about it--the first epistle from the strawberry-mad one had caught and held her attention.

All day, as she dragged her father through picture galleries, she found herself looking forward to another morning, wondering, eager.
But on the following morning Sadie Haight, the maid through whom this odd correspondence was passing, had no letter to deliver.

The news rather disappointed the daughter of Texas.

At noon she insisted on returning to the hotel for luncheon, though, as her father pointed out, they were far from the Carlton at the time.