Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. “Please don’t,” she said. This at once thrilled her and worried her. ‘Don’t lose your temper again. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please.
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