What subtle strange message had come to her out of the West? Carley Burch laid the letter in her lap and gazed dreamily through the window. It was a day typical of early April in New York rather cold and gray with steely sunlight. Spring breathed in the air but the women passing along Fifty-seventh Street wore furs and wraps. She heard the distant clatter of an L train and then the hum of a motor car. A hurdy-gurdy jarred into the interval of quiet. "Glenn has been gone over a year" she mused "three months over a year and of all his strange letters this seems the strangest yet."