For half an hour she sat quietly thinking, considering many things that might prove very important in the near future. The chair-girl knew little of life save what she had gleaned from books, but in some ways that was quite equal to personal experiences. At dinner she asked: "Did you take a book from my room to-day, Mary Louise?" "No," was the reply; "I have not been in your room since yesterday." "Nor you, Aunt Hannah?" "No, my dear. What book is missing?" "It was entitled 'The Siberian Exile.'" "Good gracious!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "Wasn't that the book you found the letter in?" "Yes." "And you say it is missing?" "It has mysteriously disappeared." "Nonsense," said Uncle Peter, who had returned with a fine string of trout. "No one would care to steal an old book, and the thing hasn't legs, you know." "Nevertheless," said Irene gravely, "it is gone." "And the letter with it!" added Mary Louise regretfully. "You ought to have let me read it while I could, Irene." "What letter are you talking about?" asked the lawyer. "It is nothing important, Uncle Peter," Irene assured him. "The loss of the book does not worry me at all." Nor did it, for she knew the letter was not in it. And, to avoid further questioning on the part of Mr. Conant, she managed to turn the conversation to less dangerous subjects. CHAPTER XVII THE HIRED GIRL