My Uncle Bradford took me one morning to his office.
“You are nearly thirty now, Jane.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“I have a letter for you from your father. He left it with me to deliver to you when you were thirty years old.”
I took the envelope he handed me. I was trembling. My uncle mopped his forehead and cleared his throat.
“You will be absolute owner of your property when you are thirty.”
“Oh,” I said blankly.
“Yes, you were not to know. It was your father’s wish. Did your mother, before she died, tell you anything about him?”
“No, I don’t think so.”