"Can--may I see him, please?"

"You can," returned the young man, emphasizing the word can in what Betty
thought an extremely disagreeable way.

He made no move to go and get Mr. Blake, and Betty, knowing nothing else
to do, awaited his pleasure in silence.

"Is it so very important as all this?" asked the young man at last,
tossing aside his papers and coming toward Betty with disconcerting
suddenness. "You know," he went on, "I can't possibly read it to-day. I'm
desperately busy. I shall put it in a pigeon-hole and I shan't look at it
for weeks perhaps. So I can't see that it was worth your while to come
out in a storm like this to bring it to me."

"Are you Mr. Richard Blake?" demanded Betty, wishing to get at least one
thing definitely settled.

The young man nodded. "I am," he said, "but pray how did you arrive at
your conclusion--so late?"

"Because," said Betty promptly, "you talk exactly as your letters sound."
"That's interesting," said the young man. "How do they sound?"

"I mean," said Betty, blushing at her own temerity, "that they are hard
to understand."

The young man appeared to be considering this remark with great
seriousness. "That implies," he began at last very slowly, "that you must