"I know that, Mr. Wattles," said Miss March. "Ever since I have been in your company you have been like a father to me. You shall open the letter yourself if you will."
She handed the epistle to the manager, who tore it open. As he glanced at its contents a frown appeared upon his usually cheerful countenance.
"The scoundrel!" he muttered, crushing the letter in his hand; "if I ever meet him again I will thrash him within an inch of his life—I will, by Jove!"
"What does he say?" the girl asked, anxiously.
"It will do you no good to know the contents of this precious epistle," replied Mr. Wattles. "You had better let me destroy it."
But Miss March's feminine curiosity was now aroused, and she insisted upon knowing what was in the letter.
"Well, if you will have it," said the manager, resignedly, "I'll read it to you. But if you don't sleep nights for the next week or two you mustn't blame me."
The old gentleman read as follows:
"Gladys: This is to remind you that, although we are separated, I am near you. Do you remember what I told you the last time we met, that no power on earth could make me give you up? I meant what I said, I mean it still. I am not far away; you will see me sooner than you think."