letter, addressed in a strong and distinguished hand to Miss Susan Briggs, The Grange, Traxelby, I saw at a glance that we hadn't to deal with a village bumpkin. Indeed, when I took the sheet of thick, good paper from the envelope and saw that it was embossed with the heading "Ruddington Towers," I wasn't surprised. I concluded instantly that Susan's pursuer was one of the three young artists of whom I've heard till I'm tired to death of them--the artists Lord Ruddington is said to have found starving in a Chelsea studio. I forget whether they've come down here to paint the hall or the chapel.

"Susan," I said, meaning to let her down gently, "I hope it isn't one of those young artists from London? An artist is interesting; but he's too impulsive, too vain, too unreliable. I hope----"

"Susan," I said, meaning to let her down gently, "I hope it isn't one of those young artists from London? An artist is interesting; but he's too impulsive, too vain, too unreliable. I hope----"

"Oh, no, Miss," said Susan hurriedly.  "It isn't any of the young gentlemen that's doing the painting and decorating."

"Oh, no, Miss," said Susan hurriedly.  "It isn't any of the young gentlemen that's doing the painting and decorating."

"Whoever he is," I answered, "he makes himself at home with Lord Ruddington's best stationery. Let me see."

"Whoever he is," I answered, "he makes himself at home with Lord Ruddington's best stationery. Let me see."

I turned over the sheet and looked for the signature. Half-way down the third page I found it. The writer had signed himself with the single word "Ruddington."

I turned over the sheet and looked for the signature. Half-way down the third page I found it. The writer had signed himself with the single word "Ruddington."

"Susan," I demanded almost roughly, "why didn't you tell me about this at once?"

"Susan," I demanded almost roughly, "why didn't you tell me about this at once?"

"If you please, Miss----"

"If you please, Miss----"

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