weeks had passed, the Beach had dropped completely from the minds of a
fickle public. Dalhousie, it seemed, had considerately vanished. Talk
ceased. The boat trouble blew over, much as the boat had done....
About this time, namely, about the middle of the seventh week, one of
Willie Kerr's cryptic messages lay beside Mrs. Heth's breakfast plate on
a morning. It ran:
I think he will come at 5.30 o'clock
Wednesday. Better arrive first?
W.K.
Willie's cipher (he liked to write as if he lived in Russia, with the
postal spies after him like hawks) was no mystery to Mrs. Heth, she
being, in a certain measure, its inventor. Having taken the telegraphic
brevity upstairs to show to Carlisle, she disappeared into the telephone
booth, to rearrange her afternoon. If all subscribers to the telephonic
system were as tireless users as she, probably fewer people would have
made large fortunes by the timely purchase of forty dollars worth
of stock.
This was a Wednesday morning in mid-December. Carlisle, recuperating
from a gay debutante rout on the evening preceding, remained in bed. By
this time the "season" was well under way: all signs promised an
exceptionally gay winter, and Carlisle was, as ever, in constant demand.
She had meant to spend the morning in bed anyway, and then besides her
mother had pointed out the necessity of being fresh for the
afternoon....
From the moment of their abrupt parting at the Beach, Carlisle had not
set eyes upon Mr. Canning, though he was known to have lingered as a
house-guest all through the following week. The circumstance had
surprised her considerably at the time, until she had thought out some
satisfactory explanations for it. To-day her maidenly thoughts assumed a
wholly prospective character, very agreeable and cheery. Mr. Canning,
having arrived yesterday from some southerly resort of his choice, was
again staying at the Payne fort on the Three Winds Road, his reported
design being to ride a few times with the Cold Run hounds, otherwise
|