"You no doubt think me a strange woman—every one does—but I have a motive in traveling about. I had a very dear sister whom I lost years ago. Lately I have learned that she died in this section of the country. She left a child—a baby girl—and I hope some day I may find that child." Miss Brooks paused to cover her eyes with her slim hand. Tavia noticed that her hands were white and shapely. After a moment's hesitation Miss Brooks continued in the same business-like voice she had at first assumed.
"As I have said, I think I can help you." She crossed to the dressing-table, opened a drawer and took from it a large envelope. From this envelope she unfolded a sheet of closely typewritten paper. This she showed to Tavia.
"Is that your signature?" she asked, pointing to the name signed to the letter.
"Why, yes," stammered Tavia, startled and surprised.
"You are astonished that I should have your letter," said the woman. "But so-called confidential correspondence travels many miles these days. I address letters and do penwork for business firms, and have received your letter among hundreds of others."
A flash of indignation crossed Tavia's face. She wanted to snatch that letter and tear it into a thousand pieces.
But Miss Brooks was quick to discern her indignation.
"Of course, I am responsible for every letter," she said. "In fact, I run a great risk in even showing this to you. But I felt I would have to make sure—that you were the party—involved."
Tavia felt like a culprit.
Involved!