Miss Brooks closed the door gently, but made sure it was well closed.  Then she took a chair directly opposite Tavia.

“You are Miss Travers,” she began in a most business-like way.

“Yes,” replied Tavia simply.

“Well, I asked you to come, Miss Travers, because I felt I could help you.  I make few friends—­the world played me false long ago—­but when I see a young girl like you in danger, I am not too bitter to warn her.”

“Thank you,” Tavia managed to utter.

“You no doubt think me a strange woman—­every one does—­but I have a motive in traveling about.  I had a very dear sister whom I lost years ago.  Lately I have learned that she died in this section of the country.  She left a child—­a baby girl—­and I hope some day I may find that child.”  Miss Brooks paused to cover her eyes with her slim hand.  Tavia noticed that her hands were white and shapely.  After a moment’s hesitation Miss Brooks continued in the same business-like voice she had at first assumed.

“As I have said, I think I can help you.”  She crossed to the dressing-table, opened a drawer and took from it a large envelope.  From this envelope she unfolded a sheet of closely typewritten paper.  This she showed to Tavia.

“Is that your signature?” she asked, pointing to the name signed to the letter.

“Why, yes,” stammered Tavia, startled and surprised.

“You are astonished that I should have your letter,” said the woman.  “But so-called confidential correspondence travels many miles these days.  I address letters and do penwork for business firms, and have received your letter among hundreds of others.”

A flash of indignation crossed Tavia’s face.  She wanted to snatch that letter and tear it into a thousand pieces.

But Miss Brooks was quick to discern her indignation.

“Of course, I am responsible for every letter,” she said.  “In fact, I run a great risk in even showing this to you.  But I felt I would have to make sure—­that you were the party—­involved.”

Tavia felt like a culprit.

Involved!

She sighed heavily as Miss Brooks fumbled with the telltale letter.

“You lost five dollars?” asked Miss Brooks.

“Yes.  Five of my own, and ten of a—­friend’s.”

“Oh!” and the woman’s eyebrows went up in surprise.  “Yes, I see.  Nathaniel White,” and she ran her fingers through a package of coupons.  “Of course, he belongs here.  He is one of the gentlemen from The Cedars?”

“Yes,” stammered Tavia, feeling as if her cheeks would ignite if something did not promptly relieve the tension.

“Strange, I had overlooked that.  I thought you were the only party about here whose name I had received.  Is he the young man outside?”

“Yes—­but I would rather not bring him in,” Tavia said.  “He knows, of course, the money is lost, but—­”

“I had not the slightest intention of speaking to him, child.  In fact, it would not do for me to make known my business to the patrons of this house.  You see, I came here, as I was told this was one of the oldest-established sanitariums in the State, and I hoped, in a vague way, to hear something of my poor sister Marie.”