"What did you think, dear?"
"That it was just the pleasantest thing that had ever happened to me. It was directed to Mr. W. Smith, and had been given into my hands. I was not going to seek up any other W. Smith."
"But you must have been sure that it was not intended for you, and you did not know 'Eleanor Bethune.'"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, sweetheart; it was intended for me. I can imagine destiny standing sarcastically by your side, and watching you send the letter to one W. Smith when she intended it for another W. Smith. Eleanor Bethune I meant to know just as soon as possible. I was coming back to New York to look for you."
"And, instead, she went to you in Colorado."
"Only think of that! Why, love, when that blessed telegraph clerk said, 'Who sends this message?' and you said, 'Mrs. Eleanor Bethune,' I wanted to fling my hat to the sky. I did not lose my head as badly when they found that new lead in the Silver Cliff."
"Won't you give me that letter, and let me destroy it, William? It was written to the wrong Smith."
"It was written to the wrong Smith, but it was given to the right Smith. Still, Eleanor, if you will say one little word to me, you may do what you like with the letter."
Then Eleanor whispered the word, and the blaze of the burning letter made a little illumination in honor of their betrothal kiss.