"IS IT—IS IT TED MILLER?"
Midge looked up into her sister's eyes. Her lip was quivering. She was a girl who seldom cried—her detractors would have told you why. She controlled herself before speaking now.
"It was the most hopeless affair of them all," she said simply; "but—but he was the only one who really meant it!"
His letter was against her bosom.
The married sister's eyes had filled. "You write to each other still, don't you, Midge?"
"Yes—as friends. Good night, Helen!"
"Good night, darling Midge; forgive me for speaking!" Helen whispered, kissing her eyes.
"Forgive you? You've said nothing to what I deserve!"
The girl was running up to her room two steps at a time. Ted Miller's letter was pressed tight to her heart.