"Just call up that number, please, and give the message below. They will
understand, and then you will write down their answer?"

He handed her the pencil and turned again to his dessert, saying with a
relieved air:

"Thank you. I am sorry for the interruption. Now will you finish that
story?" Apparently his entire attention was devoted to his host and his
ice, but in reality he was listening to the click of the telephone and the
low, gentle voice in an adjoining room. It came after only a moment's
pause, and he wondered at the calmness with which the usual formula of the
telephone was carried on. He could not hear what she said, but his ears
were alert to the pause, just long enough for a few words to be written,
and then to her footsteps coming quietly back.

His heart was beating wildly. It seemed to him that his host must see the
strained look in his face, but he tried to fasten his interest upon the
conversation and keep calm.

He had applied the test. There was no number upon the card, and he knew
that if the girl were not the one of whom he was in search, she would
return for an explanation.

If you are "Mary Remington," tell me where and when I can talk
with you. Immediately important to us both!

This was what he had written on the card. His fingers trembled as he took
it from the silver tray which she presented to him demurely. He picked it
up and eagerly read the delicate writing--hers--the same that had