"Oh, really"—Mrs. Mathew smiled a little grimly—but she had ere now proved herself as accessible to coaxing as the cast-iron seeming people often are. They betray, on occasion, a touching gratitude at not being taken at their own grim word.
"Why should I hesitate to tell what you don't hesitate to do?"
But Genie's arm was round her. "Oh, you know why. Mother has such extravagantly high ideas about what people ought to do."
In the other hand Mrs. Mathew still held the note, out of the girl's reach. "You make a practice of this?"
"No, no. It's the first time, and I'll never do it again, if you'll promise not to tell on me."
Mrs. Mathew hesitated.
"Dearest auntie, be nice! If you tell," the girl protested, "I'll have no character to keep up and I'll write him real—well, real letters."
"What do you mean? Isn't this a real letter?"
"No. It doesn't say half. It's nothing to what I could—"