prepared to bet that she destroyed the letters as fast as she got
them."

Those were, roughly, the thoughts of R. Jones as he stood in the
doorway of Number Seven; and they were important thoughts
inasmuch as they determined his attitude toward Joan in the
approaching interview. He perceived that this matter must be
handled delicately--that he must be very much the gentleman. It
would be a strain, but he must do it.

The maid returned and directed him to Joan's room with a brief
word and a sweeping gesture.

"Eh?" said R. Jones. "First floor?"

"Front," said the maid.

R. Jones trudged laboriously up the short flight of stairs. It
was very dark on the stairs and he stumbled. Eventually, however,
light came to him through an open door. Looking in, he saw a girl
standing at the table. She had an air of expectation; so he
deduced that he had reached his journey's end.

"Miss Valentine?"

"Please come in."

R. Jones waddled in.

"Not much light on your stairs."