Tales of the City Room
that were shown her, and the invariable good fellowship with which she was treated.
She was, however, too well poised to permit this condition to last. As successive Fridays came, always bringing their red roses and their odd concomitant, a typewritten letter which breathed the most delicate tenderness, her interest in the unknown sender grew deeper and softer. All unconsciously, perhaps, her hidden correspondent was laying bare his soul to the woman he loved. It was a noble and upright soul, she recognized. The whole world might have read the simple, manly letters in which week after week he poured out his heart to her. Nor were they wholly sentimental letters. The Shadow was consistent in his resolve to ask for nothing while giving all. When she had learned to acquiesce in his incognito and ceased marvelling at his complete knowledge of her and her life, she discovered, as the months went by, that the strong personality behind these weekly letters had become one of the most powerful influences in her career. The Shadow's point of view was unique. His letters were sometimes long, sometimes
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