"Oh, I could never do that!" exclaimed Tavia. "My father is so well known; he is a squire, you know."
"All the more reason why they would pay attention to your letter," argued Miss Brooks. "But, of course, if you feel that way about it, all I can say is that you know how easily a young girl may be deceived, and, in the future, avoid such alluring promises. You could never expect any return from that sort of advertising."
Tavia was on her feet to go. She was disappointed. She felt the advice painfully unnecessary. In making mistakes she boasted of the faculty of always finding a new one—she never was known to repeat a downright error.
"I am very much obliged," she faltered, "and would do as you ask, but I am afraid to write any more letters."
Miss Brooks smiled. "I shall drop you a line," she offered, "if I find any other way of assisting you."
Tavia thanked her again, made her way down the stairs, and, with a sigh of relief, climbed up beside Nat in the car awaiting her.
"What did she say?" asked Nat impatiently.
"Oh, let me get my breath," begged Tavia. "I don't know what she did say, except she wanted me to write a letter and threaten to expose it—as if I could do that!"
"Why couldn't you?" asked Nat pointedly.
"Oh, I am just sick of it all," replied Tavia helplessly. "I want to drop it. I see no good in keeping it up now."