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 "No, wait a moment," he said. "I want to speak to you. I've had a complaint of you this morning—no, not of you"—as the accountant raised his head angrily—"I was speaking to this young lady. The writing-master says your hand is not satisfactory."

"My hand, sir?" said Elise, fluttering the two white trifles that served her in that capacity.

"Your handwriting," answered Austin. "I understand that it isn't even legible. Now what in the world is the use of writing a letter if no one can read what you say? There's no excuse for that. I don't intend any girl to graduate from this school who cannot write a creditable note. So from now until the Easter vacation I want you to write a sample letter every day."

"To whom, sir?"

"To Miss Curtis, who will go over it with Mr. Browning and return it corrected."

Elise bowed, as one who never questioned authority. "Only," she said, "I often do write to Miss Curtis and she has never criticized my writing, or even my spelling, though I remember that in one of my last I spelled actress 'actrice,' which I found out for myself afterward was wrong, but Miss Curtis never said anything about it at all."