So little was there of manifest sorrow in the girl's tone and countenance that Mr. Whiston gazed at her rather indignantly. His pregnant pause gave birth to one of those admonitory axioms which had hitherto ruled his daughter's life.
'My dear, I advise you never to trifle with questions of propriety. Could there possibly be a better illustration of what I have so often said—that in self-defence we are bound to keep strangers at a distance?'
'Father'
Rose began firmly, but her voice failed.
'You were going to say, Rose?'
She took her courage in both hands.
'Will you allow me to see the letters?'
'Certainly. There can be no objection to that.'
He drew from his pocket the three envelopes, held them to his daughter. With shaking hand Rose unfolded the first letter; it was written in clear commercial character, and was signed 'Charles James Burroughs.' When she had read all, the girl said quietly—
'Are you quite sure, father, that these letters are impertinent?'