supper. He reads law every evening now, and he didn't used to. Guess he
ain't wasting so much time as he was. Been down to the hotel yet?" she
asked, inclining her head toward Miriam.

"Once," answered Miriam, reluctantly.

[Sidenote: Gossip]

"There ain't many come yet," the postmaster's wife tells me. "There's a
young lady at the hotel named Miss Eloise Wynne, and every day but
Saturday she gets a letter from the city, addressed in a man's writin'.
And every afternoon, when the boy brings the hotel mail down to go out
on the night train, there's a big white square envelope in a woman's
writin' addressed to Doctor Allan Conrad, some place in the city. The
envelope smells sweet, but the writin' is dreadful big and
sploshy-lookin'. Know anything about her?" Miss Mattie gazed sharply at
Miriam over her spectacles.

"No," returned Miriam, decisively.

"Thought maybe you would. Anyhow, you don't need to be so sharp about
it, cause there's no harm in askin' a civil question. My mother always
taught me that a civil question called for a civil answer. I should
think, from the letters and all, that he was her steady company,
shouldn't you?"

"It's possible," assented Barbara, seeing that Miriam did not intend to
reply.

"There's some talk at the sewin' circle of gettin' you one of them hand