Tavia was silent.  She felt instantly relieved at the idea that Nat would not hear all Miss Brooks might choose to say.

“The only way I might be of service to you,” said Miss Brooks, as she folded up the letter, “would be by giving you some advice.  You see, I cannot betray a firm I am employed by.  But the method I would advise you to follow is being used every day by—­victims.  It is merely a matter of threatening to expose the scheme—­they know the business is unlawful.”

“Oh, I could never do that!” exclaimed Tavia.  “My father is so well known; he is a squire, you know.”

“All the more reason why they would pay attention to your letter,” argued Miss Brooks.  “But, of course, if you feel that way about it, all I can say is that you know how easily a young girl may be deceived, and, in the future, avoid such alluring promises.  You could never expect any return from that sort of advertising.”

Tavia was on her feet to go.  She was disappointed.  She felt the advice painfully unnecessary.  In making mistakes she boasted of the faculty of always finding a new one—­she never was known to repeat a downright error.

“I am very much obliged,” she faltered, “and would do as you ask, but I am afraid to write any more letters.”

Miss Brooks smiled.  “I shall drop you a line,” she offered, “if I find any other way of assisting you.”

Tavia thanked her again, made her way down the stairs, and, with a sigh of relief, climbed up beside Nat in the car awaiting her.

“What did she say?” asked Nat impatiently.

“Oh, let me get my breath,” begged Tavia.  “I don’t know what she did say, except she wanted me to write a letter and threaten to expose it—­as if I could do that!”

“Why couldn’t you?” asked Nat pointedly.

“Oh, I am just sick of it all,” replied Tavia helplessly.  “I want to drop it.  I see no good in keeping it up now.”

“Well, Tavia,” said Nat not unkindly, but with more determination than it was usual for him to show, “I don’t believe in letting money go as easily as all that, and if there is any possibility of us recovering it, it is ‘up to us’ to try.  You know I am no ‘knocker,’ but I would rather have my ‘tenner’ than that slip of baby-blue paper.”

Tavia did not answer.  She was beginning to feel the consequences of her error.  She never could stand being thus obligated to Nat—­and she a guest at his house!  Her humiliation was crushing.  Nat had never spoken to her that way before.

The ride home was made with little conversation.  Tavia was planning; Nat was evidently thinking very seriously about something—­something he could not care to discuss.

All the Christmas preparations had lost interest for Tavia now, and when, that afternoon, Dorothy and Mrs. White went on with their work of love, she sat up in her own room writing and re-writing a letter.  Finally it read: