He could not say that he objected to the lady named in the letter, but who could it be who was charging herself with the conduct of the affair? "Dear old Papa," the letter had begun, and the Admiral being old, and also the possessor of the letter, was undoubtedly the person to whom it was addressed, but who could the writer be? Jermyn knew that the Admiral had at least one daughter, who was a clever woman with some reputation in the service as a match-maker, but she was married and living several hundreds of miles from Old Point.
Perhaps she had arrived, an invalid, and remained in her room; but it was strange that no one mentioned her. Evidently the writer, whoever she might be—for the penmanship was that of a woman—was acquainted with Kate Trewman: in that case her identity might be discovered through Kate, but Jermyn, manly and honest though he was, half felt that he would not again be able to look Kate fully in the face, much less to interrogate her skilfully on so delicate a subject, in which there seemed so much at stake.
All his fears and doubts, however, disappeared like mists before the sun when next he met Kate herself. That estimable young woman was not in the least forward, but she knew how to put at their ease such men as she liked, and she quickly made herself so companionable that Jermyn began to wish that the writer of the letter would go on match-making, and in the greatest of earnest. Still, who on earth, or at Old Point, could she be? The Admiral himself seemed to enter entirely into the spirit of the affair, for he made two or three occasions to speak to Kate and Jermyn together, and to bring out some of the young man's best points; he was as hearty as if he and Jermyn had been boys together, and that sort of thing, from an officer of very high rank to a subaltern, has its effect upon women. Indeed, the old sea-dog was so very familiar that Jermyn almost determined to boldly ask him for another glance at the letter—at least, for a look at the sketches.
But the Admiral's affability and high spirits were partly assumed, for he had a great load of trouble upon his mind. When he reached his room and prepared to burn the tell-tale letter, he could not find the letter itself. What could he have done with it? At times he was very absent-minded; he had been known to go out without his hat, and to search with his right hand for the eye-glasses that were in his left, but he certainly had carried that letter too close to his mind to mislay it. Had he taken any papers from his pocket anywhere? Ha! That sketch of the placer mine.
He hurried back to the fort, but it was not there, nor could he find anyone who had seen it. Probably, the semi-public man, Blogsham, had pocketed the paper, which would have been entirely natural under the circumstances, but Blogsham had already started for Washington.
The Admiral groaned. He remembered that the letter had no signature, so it could not be traced to its writer; but the writer was a woman, and the subject was a woman and an officer, and Blogsham was rather a coarse fellow, and very fond of a practical joke, and if he should chance to know Jermyn——
Know Jermyn? Why, to be sure he knew him! Had not the Admiral himself introduced the Lieutenant, and consulted him about the sketch? Possibly Jermyn himself had the letter; he would ask him. Hence, the Admiral's frequent excuses to speak to Jermyn in Kate's presence, and to finally ask bluntly:
"By the way, Jermyn, do you remember those sketches we made at the club yesterday?"
The young officer suddenly reddened, and the older officer lost heart, although he regained it when Jermyn replied: