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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"


What was it?"
"I'll tell you--let me see--I'll tell you on Thursday."
"Why not now?"
"Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to be
single-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus your
wits on Siddle to-day. I don't suggest any plan. I leave that to your own
intelligence. Vex him, and let him talk."
"Vex him!"
"Yes. What man won't get mad if he notices that his best girl is thinking
about a rival."
This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very
serious.
"I'll do what I can," she promised. "When shall I see you again?"
"Soon. There's no hurry. All this is preparatory for Wednesday."
"Am I to tell my father nothing?"
"Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you."
The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home
with her cakes at three o'clock, and Mr. Martin would never have noticed
her absence.
"A fine bit of work, if I may say so," exclaimed Fowler appreciatively.
"But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you're driving at."
Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation to
his liking before answering earnestly:
"We stand or fall by the result of that girl's efforts.


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