"You have probably destroyed them---eh?"

"Certainly! I never keep letters. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you see, Miss Valentine, the Honorable Frederick
Threepwood is about to be married; and he thought that possibly,
on the whole, it would be better that the letters--and
poetry--which he wrote you were nonexistent."

Not all R. Jones' gentlemanliness--and during this speech he
diffused it like a powerful scent in waves about him--could hide
the unpleasant meaning of the words.

"He was afraid I might try to blackmail him?" said Joan, with
formidable calm.

R. Jones raised and waved a fat hand deprecatingly.

"My dear Miss Valentine!"

Joan rose and R. Jones followed her example. The interview was
plainly at an end.

"Please tell Mr. Threepwood to make his mind quite easy. He is in
no danger."

"Exactly--exactly; precisely! I assured Threepwood that my visit
here would be a mere formality. I was quite sure you had no
intention whatever of worrying him. I may tell him definitely,