"Sure!" returned Patty; "but I'm not running this thing alone. We must all help make up the letter. And, Adele, haven't you some photograph that will be just right to send?"
As soon as they reached home they hunted over Adele's collection of photographs, and finally found one that Patty declared just right.
It was a picture of one of Adele's cousins, a girl of about sixteen, whose sweet young face wore an expression so soulful and languishing that it was almost comical.
"Hester hates that picture," said Adele; "she never looks that way really,—like a sick calf,—but somehow the photographer managed to catch that expression."
"She wouldn't mind if she knew, would she?" said Patty.
"Oh, mercy, no! She'd think it the best joke in the world. She lives in
California, so there's little chance of Mr. Cameron ever seeing her.
Now let's write the letter."
After much agony of composition and much gay fooling, the plotters produced this:
"DEAR MR. CHRISTOPHER:
I must modify your more formal name a little,—for it seems now as if I almost knew you. I tremble with fear lest some one should discover that I write to you. But I cannot help writing. I am impelled by a feeling in my soul. I send my picture and I wish it were more beautiful. For I know you love only what is good and beautiful. We must not meet, that would be TOO dangerous. But will you not write me one more precious letter that I may keep it forever?