“Of all things!” exclaimed Cora, dropping the letter into her lap.  “Just like every other girl on earth.  Tells you what she wants you to know, but never says a word about what you want to find out.  I’ve a good mind to let Jack read this letter.  He might know what would be best to do.”

Then she hesitated.  Cora always did hesitate before taking an important step, just as she always stopped and looked around when leaving her room—­to see if she had forgotten anything, or if she had left it all right.

“But it does look strange,” she reasoned.  “Yet I would trust Mary.  She has such an honest face.  I will just tell Jack the whole thing.”

Picking up the letter she hurried back to the porch.

There sat Walter Pennington and Ed Foster with her brother.  Concealing one expression of surprise, and another of disappointment that Jack was not alone, Cora greeted the young men pleasantly and invited them in to dinner, an invitation which Jack, in his rough-and-ready fashion had given by asking his chums to stay to dine.

Mrs. Kimball was preparing for a little trip, and though very busy she warmly greeted her son’s friends, and entertained them, as she knew so well how to.

“You young folks are so taken up with your motors,” she said as she took her place at the head of the table, “that we older and less fortunate people scarcely get a chance to speak to you.  Cora is so enthusiastic over her car and its swift motion that our maid declares she will soon turn into a bird and fly.”

“A dove,” whispered Walter, just loud enough to be heard by every one, but softly enough to disguise the platitude.

Cora laughed lightly.  Walter had a very taking way of saying things.  He seemed to know exactly how to be nice without being silly.

The dinner over, the young people went to the porch.  Mary’s letter was in Cora’s belt, and the edge of the envelope, scratching her hand as she sat down reminded her of her anxiety concerning the contents.  Should she tell all the boys?  Ed ought to know, that was her first thought.  Surely Jack ought to know of it, and, as for Walter—­well, he ought to know also, for he had found the empty pocketbook.

Ed was making some remark to Jack about the lost money.  Cora listened to see if it had any reference to what her brother had told her that morning.  She crushed the letter in her hands.

“I’ve just had a note,” she began, “from my friend Mary Downs.”

“What I From the pretty runaway?” exclaimed Jack.  “So that letter was from her, eh?  No wonder I didn’t recognize the hand.”

“She did not run away, Jack,” objected his sister, and there was a warning note in her voice.

“Oh, no, of course not.  But, anyway, she vas pretty.  Wasn’t she, boys?”

“A hummer!” declared Walter, adjusting a porch steamer chair for Cora.

“Well, if you want to hear about the letter—­” began the girl.