She was a very pretty girl. Her hair was dark, her eyes were brown and very large and bright, her cheeks bewitchingly pink. The young carrier thrilled as he looked at her.
“Yes, the mail is kind of late this morning, Miss Worthington,” he said awkwardly. “I’ve got an unusually big delivery to-day.” He held out the bunch of letters in his hand. “Here are five for the boss and one for you.”
He watched her face anxiously as she extended her hand for the mail. His own grew dark as he saw her eyes light up at the sight of the handwriting on the envelope addressed to her.
“You—you seem to be getting an awful lot of mail from Chicago lately,” he remarked gloomily.
She nodded and smiled brightly. “Yes, I am very fortunate. This is the fifth this week.”
“And all from the same fellow!” he exclaimed, with a bitter laugh.
“Why, how do you know that?” she demanded, looking at him quizzically from under her long lashes.
“Oh, don’t you suppose I can recognize the handwriting?” was his sullen reply.
“Really?” She laughed. “I didn’t think you letter carriers were so smart. Considering the thousands of letters you must handle in the course of a week, I should think it would be impossible for you to remember the handwriting of each——”
“I’d like to know who he is!” Owen broke in impulsively.