tactful letter. She told, at some length, the tale of the model—its origin and disappearance—expressed the keen interest the present Ingrams felt in discovering it in the exhibition, and hinted vaguely at a hope of future Ingrams being able, perhaps, to buy it back into the family. This last was so veiled in rhetoric that Jane, reading it over and over by candle-light, felt sure that Mr. Bolliver would take no offense, yet might gather an idea that there existed rightful owners who lived in hope.
Jane put her letter into an envelope and, after some consideration, sealed it with the carnelian seal on which was graved "M. I." and the sailing ship. This, she decided, would establish her identity beyond doubt and convince Mr. Bolliver that at least she was no impostor. She stole out hatless at the garden-door, posted her letter before she had time to reconsider, and spent the waking moments of that night in the pleasantly uneasy frame of mind of one who has launched a secret venture.
Leisurely days went past, and Mrs. Titcomb visited the Historical Society's exhibition and came away reminiscent and admiring. Jane went about with a piercing stare for every
