“Well, now, Mr. Westover, I suppose you have guessed by this time that Mr. Durgin has renewed his offer, and Genevieve has conditionally accepted him; we do not feel that she is like an ordinary widow, and that she has to fill up a certain season of mourning; she and Gigi have been dead to each other for years; and Mr. Durgin is as fond of our dear little Bice as her own father could be, and they are together all the time.  Her name is Beatrice de’ Popolani Grassi.  Isn’t it lovely?  She has poor Gigi’s black eyes, with the most beautiful golden hair, which she gets from our aide.  You remember Genevieve’s hair back in the dear old days, before any trouble had come, and we were all so happy together?  And this brings me to what I wanted to say.  You are the oldest friend we have, and by a singular coincidence you are the oldest friend of Mr. Durgin, too.  I cannot bear to risk my child’s happiness a second time, and though Mr. Vostrand fully approves of the match, and has cabled his consent from Seattle, Washington, still, you know, a mother’s heart cannot be at rest without some positive assurance.  I told Mr. Durgin quite frankly how I felt, and he agreed with me that after our experience with poor Gigi we could not be too careful, and he authorized me to write to you and find out all you knew about him.  He said you had known him ever since he was a boy, and that if there was anything bad in his record you could tell it, and he did not want you to spire the truth.  He knows you will be just, and he wants you to write out the facts as they struck you at the time.

“I shall be on pins and needles, as the saying is, till we hear from you, and you know hew Genevieve and Mr. D. must be feeling.  She is fully resolved not to have him without your endorsement, and he is quite willing to abide by what you say.

   “I could almost wish you to cable me just Good or Bad, but I know
   that this will not be wise, and I am going to wait for your letter,
   and get your opinion in full.

“We all join in the kindest regards.  Mr. D. is talking with Genevieve while I write, and has our darling Bice on his knees.  You cannot imagine what a picture it makes, her childish delicacy contrasted with his stalwart strength.  She says to send you a baciettino, and I wish you were here to receive it from her angel lips.  Yours faithfully,

“Medora Vostrand.

“P.  S.—­Mr. D. says that he fell in love with Genevieve across the barrier between the first and second cabin when he came over with us on the Aquitaine four years ago, and that he has never ceased to love her, though at one time he persuaded himself that he cared for another because he felt that she was lost to him forever, and it was no use:  He really did care for the lady he was engaged to, and had a true affection for her, which he mistook for a warmer feeling.  He says that she was worthy of any man’s