'pocket,' and not a 'lead.'" She stopped, with unexpected tears in her
eyes.

"Who told you this?" asked Christie breathlessly.

"Fairfax--Mr. Munroe," stammered her sister, "writes to me as if we
already knew it--tells me not to be alarmed, that it isn't so bad--and
all that."

"How long has this happened, Jessie?" said Christie, taking her hand,
with a white but calm face.

"Nearly ever since we've been here, I suppose. It must be so, for he
says poor papa is still hopeful of doing something yet."

"And Mr. Munroe writes to you?" said Christie abstractedly.

"Of course," said Jessie quickly. "He feels interested in--us."

"Nobody tells ME anything," said Christie.

"Didn't--"

"No," said Christie bitterly.

"What on earth DID you talk about? But people don't confide in you
because they're afraid of you. You're so--"

"So what?"