"I am perfectly willing to have you read the letter. It was written over a year ago. It is Ailsa's letter. I told you I was once engaged to Ailsa; that she married my friend, without the slightest warning; that I had not destroyed her last letter. She never acquired the habit of dating her letters, and therefore this one might appear to be a bit of recent correspondence."
"A very pretty explanation!" cried old Robinson. "We'll see—we'll see! Dorothy, read it for yourself!"
Dorothy was rapidly recovering her self-possession. She turned to her uncle quite calmly, with the folded bit of paper in her hand.
"How did you come by this letter," she inquired. "You didn't really steal it?"
Garrison answered: "The letter was certainly stolen. My suit-case was rifled the night of my arrival at Branchville. These gentlemen hired a thief to go through my possessions."
"I've been protecting my rights!" the old man answered fiercely. "If you think you can cheat me out of my rightful dues you'll find out your mistake!"
"I wouldn't have thought you could stoop to this," said Dorothy. "You couldn't expect to shake my faith in Jerold."
She handed Garrison the letter to show her confidence.
Garrison placed it in his pocket. He turned on the Robinsons angrily.
"You are both involved in a prison offense," he said—"an ordinary, vulgar burglary. I suppose you feel secure in the fact that for Dorothy's sake I shall do nothing about it—to-day. But I warn you that I'll endure no more of this sort of thing, in your efforts to throw discredit on Dorothy's relationship with me! Now then, kindly leave the room."