"The only way I might be of service to you," said Miss Brooks, as she
folded up the letter, "would be by giving you some advice. You see, I
cannot betray a firm I am employed by. But the method I would advise you
to follow is being used every day by--victims. It is merely a matter of
threatening to expose the scheme--they know the business is unlawful."

"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.