The Princess slipped her hand among the folds of the trailing pale green skirt, and from a hidden pocket drew other letters exactly like the one I held.

She opened one and ran her finger along the top line and I read, "To the Princess," and then she pointed to the ending and it was merely signed, "Laddie," but all the words written between were his writing.

Slowly I handed her the letter.
"You don't want me to have it ?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.

"I want you to have it if Laddie wrote it for you--but mother and father won't, not at all." "What makes you think so ?" she asked gently.
"Don't you know what people say about you ?" "Some of it, perhaps." "Well ?" "Do you think it is true ?" "Not that you're stuck up, and hateful and proud, not that you don't want to be neighbourly with other people, no, I don't think that.

But your father said in our home that there was no God, and you wouldn't let my mother in when she put on her best dress and went in the carriage, and wanted to be friends.