THE BRUTAL TRUTH.

Three days passed—three awfully slow days, though I visited Harvey Hume and Tom Barton, spent every evening at the theatre, and loafed away many hours at the club, where the boys made me tell them of the islands I had visited and asked my opinion over and over, (as if it amounted to anything) in relation to the probability of a war between the United States and Spain. I refused to enlighten Harvey at the time in reference to his question whether I had not been quite as happy "without my secretary" as if I had taken one. I said I would have something to tell him one of these days and that he must be content until that time came. Tom was the same dear fellow as of yore, but Statia, who came in to welcome me, was as sphynx-like as on the eve of my departure.

I also had to run in a moment on my Uncle Dugald, who gave me his hand in his old, impassive manner, and expressed the opinion that I looked better, on the whole, than when I went away. A brief call on Dr. Chambers completed my list. I thought that excellent gentleman looked a trifle disappointed when I called his attention to my improved physique and said I was as well as I had ever been in my life. I have no wish to do him an injustice, for it was certainly a feather in his cap when he raised me out of the Slough of Despond and made me fit to travel at all; but it is only natural if professional men are not filled with special delight at announcements that their services are no longer required.

On the third evening there came a packet from Miss May—at last! an awfully big packet, which set me to wondering what it could possibly contain. I thought as I received it from the messenger that it would have answered for a presidential message to Congress on the Cuban situation, with all the correspondence that had passed between the United States and Spain since the blowing up of the warship. It may be believed I lost no time in tearing open the paper that encircled the missives. Inside I found a small envelope marked "Open first," and a larger one inscribed, "Read this only after you have read the other carefully." All this was so deliberate and so much like a deep plan that I was far from my ease when I complied with the request and cut the smaller envelope. And the reader may well believe that my sensations were not of a very enviable nature when I read these lines:

I was surprised at the calmness with which I saw all my hopes blown to the winds in a single paragraph. Curiosity was the most pronounced feeling in my mind at the moment. I took a long breath, steadied my nerves for an instant, and then opened the larger envelope. There were typewriter sheets, twelve in number, done, apparently, on a Remington machine. And this is what I read:

Prepare yourself to hear the worst about me, my dear friend, for your imagination could hardly make me out a greater scamp than I am. Know then, to begin with, your companion in the Caribbean was a well-known criminal, whose entire trip with you was planned for the purpose of fraud. If she failed to accomplish that end you must ascribe it to a weak yielding to sentimental considerations, of which she should—from a professional standpoint—be heartily ashamed.

If you have survived this statement, read on, and I will be more explicit. I am what is known to the police as a "confidence woman." My usual game is to beguile persons of the opposite sex into "falling in love" with me and then fleece them out of as large a sum as I can do with safety to myself. I may add, without egotism, that I have been fairly successful in this, my chosen field. If you care to get another copy of that book I stopped you from reading at St. Thomas, "Our Rival, the Rascal," you will find on one of its pages a fairly accurate portrait of your humble servant, though the name affixed is not by any means the one I thought it wise to give you.

One of my favorite methods of making the acquaintance of probable victims is through the advertising columns of newspapers. I have found no better medium for the purpose than the "Personals" in the New York Herald; it is generally to be supposed that a masculine individual who will use that column or reply to anything contained therein is good game for my purpose.

Naturally my attention was attracted to your announcement that you wanted a typewritist to accompany you to the West Indies for the winter. I wrote as modest and taking an answer as I knew how and the fact that it proved most attractive to you out of a hundred you received justified my judgment. The next thing was to hold you fast, when you came to see me, and here again I flatter myself that I evinced the right sort of talent. I sized you up at the start for what you were—a good-natured, easily-led gentleman of means, who would answer very well for my purpose.

Now, see how I proceeded: To have accepted your offer at once would have been to awaken your suspicions. I knew better than that, and I played what is technically known as a waiting game. As I look back on our primary interviews and correspondence I do not see a wrong step on my part. I wrote you that I could be seen "only between the hours of two and four," to give you the impression that I was no ordinary girl who would go anywhere, or with any one, and whom you could lead with a thread.

You were to come at my hours; I knew you would like that. You came, but it was I who saw and conquered. You told me at once that you had engaged berths for two on the Madiana. This showed that you were not likely to back out, but I did not take your word alone. I had a friend verifying your statement at Cook's office within an hour after you left my room.

Had I told you that I would go, that afternoon, you would have had a chance to think it over and perhaps to change your mind. It is the fleeing bird that attracts the attention of the hunter. You gave me the name of "David Camwell, Lambs Club," which before I slept that night I had turned into Donald Camran, from a list of members which I was easily able to procure. I learned that Donald Camran was rich; that he was considered erratic; that he answered your description in personal appearance; and that he had been, as you said, recently ill.

The next time you adopt a false name do not use your own initials. Nine-tenths of the people who do this slip up on that banana peel.

When you left my room, that first afternoon, I was as certain you would return as that the sun would rise on the following day. The chapters of the "novel" you afterwards dictated to me prove how entirely accurate I was in my estimates. I take much pride, also, in the second letter I sent you, for I covered my "fly" with attractive colors to dazzle your eye and meet every point likely to arise in your mind. My card was to convince you that I was the very proper young lady I professed to be. To do this without acting the silly prude was a task fit only for such thoroughly trained hands as mine. Next I spoke of the matter of compensation, to convince you that I was really a working girl and not a mere adventurer. You had plenty of means and the price of my weekly stipend was not likely to alarm you.

As it would really be necessary for me to have considerable money to make a suitable appearance I gently hinted something in relation to that matter, leaving it, however, to your own judgment what should be done. I believe I may claim that in the composition of that letter I showed decided talent. At any rate it accomplished its purpose.

When your answer came I knew that I was going. I would not have paid five dollars to be assured of that. But when you returned to me I still had to pretend a little doubt—not too much, that would have spoiled everything. I left it to you to say whether, after all, you really wanted me to take the journey, doing it in a way that alarmed your fears lest you were going to lose me. I had to keep "the scent warm," as the saying is. The rushing way in which you bought my trunks and sent me the first installment of cash would have removed my doubts, had any remained.

I then thought I might as well get clothed while I was about it and sent the third letter, which we may call "Exhibit C." In that I appealed to the chivalrous part of your nature, arousing your sympathies, and yet without putting myself for one instant in the rÔle of a mendicant.

"If I am to go I am unwilling to disgrace you"—that was all there was to it.

Again I was justified by the result. You came as soon as I would let you—I had "gone out of town over New Years," you remember, and you showered another lot of bankbills on my head.

Now here is just where a less experienced person would have made her mistake. Seeing how easily you could be induced to disgorge, she would have hinted at expenditures that would have caused a revolt even in your generous brain. I came late on purpose that Tuesday morning (I had only been a couple of blocks away) in order to work up the fever that I knew was latent in you. I suggested that you go to the shops, knowing that you would grasp at the chance to occupy so close a position to me as the cab would afford. At Altman's I pretended to be shocked at some of the prices, so that you would pronounce them the extremity of cheapness. (How could you do anything else?) And I hinted bashfully at the question of jewelry, knowing that you would send me all I could reasonably expect, as you did the next day.

Then I went to dine with you in a private room, primarily because I was nearly starved to death, secondarily because I knew it would fasten you to me the closer. I put on that awful blue veil to give you the impression that I had never done such a thing before, when as a matter of fact the waiter who served us knows my face as well as he does his mother's, if he has one. He knew enough to conceal that fact, however, as I am certain, from previous experience, every waiter in that house would have done.

Now we come to one of the fine points. You did not forget to mention in your description of that evening how I refused to have the door of our cabinet particulaire locked, which you were kind enough to ascribe to maidenly modesty on my part. The fact is, ever since I was imprisoned three years ago for two months, awaiting trial for one of my schemes that went awry, the thought of a turned key on any room I occupy drives me into fits. In that at least I was honest. The scare you gave me in proposing to lock that door took away my appetite to such an extent that I ate, as you have recorded, very sparingly of the excellent dinner.

You may remember that I showed similar trepidation at St. Thomas, when you suggested that Mr. Eggert might lock the door of my bedroom. It was enough like a jail with the high fence around the grounds, and I never felt quite easy till we had left the place. I really did not take one good breath there, so vivid is my recollection of the horrible days when high walls and locked doors meant imprisonment.

I don't suppose I shall explain everything you will wish to know, but I shall do my best. The next thing that occurs to me is that I refused to allow you to register my name on the Madiana's passenger list as "Miss May." As this was merely a nom de guerre you will wonder why I objected to its going into print. The fact is that my husband—yes, I am married, and by a minister of the church, too—did not like to have me take that journey without going with me on the boat, while I was sure it was much better for him to remain away. He has no jealousy, as you will immediately imagine—he knows me too well to be guilty of such a senseless thing. I love him with all my soul; and I can take care of myself, if it comes to that, against the persuasions or the force of any living man.

He merely wanted to be with me, just as you would want to be with your wife, if you had one and loved her. I knew he was not always a safe companion in a game of this kind, that he had a quick temper and was lacking in judgment in any case where I was concerned; and I told him plainly that this was my affair, that I should manage it alone, if at all, and I should not tell him where you and I were going.

As he knew your name, having made the inquiries at your club, he would have a double chance to discover us if he saw mine anywhere in print, and "Miss May" was a title he knew I had once before assumed. So I got you to change it to "Carney" in hopes to throw him off the track. He proved too shrewd for me, however, as you will agree when I mention that he travelled on the steamer with us under the name of "Edgerly."

I may as well tell you at this point that the "cruel employer" to whom I alluded so often was a creature of my imagination, and that all the typewriting I have ever done has been for my own profit and amusement in schemes like the present one.

If you had recorded me as "Miss Camwell" I meant to work another racket on you. I expected to institute a suit for breach of promise on my return, not one to be taken to court, but only to use as a lever to pry a few thousands out of your pocket; I would have done this if you had not, contrary to all precedent, made me an honorable offer of your hand, which spoiled my plan in an unforeseen manner. It was with this in view that I went to your rooms several times before we sailed. It is always handy to have evidence ready in a case of this kind and hallboys are excellent witnesses if wanted.

Don't you think I am a lovely girl, now? And aren't you sorry I am not free to wed. What a charming wife I would make for a man like you!

Well, to resume, I played what I thought a good card by saying that I should only accept the things you paid for as "the costuming of my part" and return them to you when the show was over. It didn't cost anything to say that and I knew you never would accept them. The little screed that I left on the typewriter at your room was not a bad stroke, either. I flatter myself it was a fair piece of English composition, and although it contained not a word of truth, it answered just as well. It made you think of me with more respect than if you had supposed me a mere waif of the streets.

You wondered—didn't you?—why I went to my cabin on the steamer and remained there for part of two days after it started. Perhaps you can guess the reason now. I had seen my husband on deck and not being anxious to meet him any sooner than could be helped I kept out of his way. Before I did come up I received a note from him, by one of the stewards, detailing the course he intended to adopt, which was simply to act as if he had never seen or heard of me in his life. I could not help a slight uneasiness, though, at his presence, for he is not always as shrewd as a husband of mine should be. I was rather displeased that he had come in spite of my advice; and I felt afraid that he would hamper my movements even if he did not destroy my plans.

What made me suspect that man Wesson I do not know, unless it was instinct. The moment I set my eyes upon him I put him down for an enemy. I wrote a few lines to my husband, telling him to watch, but he answered that my suspicions were groundless, another proof how much clearer are my intuitions than his. Wesson was always prying around. I had some conversations on deck with him when you left me alone, but could come to no positive conclusion except that I wished he was somewhere on shore.

I didn't really guess what he was up to until we had landed at St. Thomas.