her to open with Miss Garnet, or My Dear Miss Garnet, or
Dear Miss Garnet, or My Dear Miss Barbara, or My Dear Miss Barb, or Dear
Miss Barb, or just Dear Friend as you would to an ordinary acquaintance.
He tried every form, but each in turn looked simply and dreadfully
impossible, and at length he went on with the letter, leaving the terms
of his salutation to the inspiration of the last moment. It was long
after midnight when he finished. The night sky was inviting, and the
post-office near by; he mailed the letter there instead of trusting the
hotel. And then he stood by the mute slot that had swallowed it, and
because he could not get it back for amendment called himself by as
large a collection of flaming and freezing invectives as ever a Southern
gentleman--"member in good standing of any Evangelical church"--poured
upon himself in the privacy of his own counsels. He returned to his
hotel, but was back again at sunrise smiling his best into a hand hole,
requesting so-and-so and so-and-so, while he pencilled and submitted
examples of his hand-writing. To which a voice within replied,

"Oh, yes, the watchman; but the watchman told you wrong. I tell you
again, that mail's gone."

"How long has--? However!--Oh, that's all right, sir; I only
wanted--ahem!" The applicant moved away chewing his lip. What he had
"only wanted" was to change the form of his letter's salutation. In the
street it came to him that by telegraphing the post-master at the other
end of the route he could--"Oh, thunder! Let it go!" He had begun it,
"Dear Miss Barb."

And so it went its way, while he went his--on a business of whose pure
unselfishness it is to be feared he was a trifle proud--I mean, to see
how Mrs. Ravenel was and ask what more he could do for her. He was
kindly received by a sweet little woman of thirty or so, who lived in a
small high room of the hotel, taught vocal music in an academy, and had
nothing to do on Saturdays and Sundays--this was Saturday. Through the
doctor, who was her doctor, too, she had found access to Fannie's
bedside and even into her grateful regard. Her soft, well-trained voice
was of the kind that rests the sick and weary. The nurse, she said, was
getting a little sleep on the lounge in Mrs. Ravenel's room.
"Satisfactory?" Yes, admirable every way, and already as fond of Mrs.
Ravenel as she herself.

"Isn't she lovely?" she exclaimed in melodious undertone, and hardly
gave Mr. March time for a very digni