She moved back to the writing-table as she spoke.

"Say nothing," I replied, "till you have heard the first story.
Shut up the paper-case till that time, and then decide when you
will open it again to write to your aunt."

She hesitated and smiled. That terribly close guess of hers was
not out of her mind yet.

"I rather fancy," she said, slyly, "that the story will turn out
to be the best of the whole series."

"Wrong again," I retorted. "I have a plan for letting chance
decide which of the stories the first one shall be. They shall be
all numbered as they are done; corresponding numbers shall be
written inside folded pieces of card and well mixed together; you
shall pick out any one card you like; you shall declare the
number written within; and, good or bad, the story that answers
to that number shall be the story that is read. Is that fair?"

"Fair!" she exclaimed; "it's better than fair; it makes _me_ of
some importance; and I must be more or less than woman not to
appreciate that."

"Then you consent to wait patiently for the next five days?"

"As patiently as I can."

"And you engage to decide nothing about writing to your aunt
until you have heard the first story?"