instantly recognized and understood.

"She has the devil's own temper," he said. "There's no denying that.
Perhaps I'd better write. Have we time to go into the house?"

"No. The house is full of people, and we haven't a minute to spare.
Write at once, and write here. I have got a pencil."

"What am I to write on?"

"Any thing--your brother's card."

Geoffrey took the pencil which Arnold offered to him, and looked at the
card. The lines his brother had written covered it. There was no room
left. He felt in his pocket, and produced a letter--the letter which
Anne had referred to at the interview between them--the letter which she
had written to insist on his attending the lawn-party at Windygates.

"This will do," he said. "It's one of Anne's own letters to me. There's
room on the fourth page. If I write," he added, turning suddenly on
Arnold, "you promise to take it to her? Your hand on the bargain!"

He held out the hand which had saved Arnold's life in Lisbon Harbor, and
received Arnold's promise, in remembrance of that time.

"All right, old fellow. I can tell you how to find the place as we go
along in the gig. By-the-by, there's one thing that's rather important.
I'd better mention it while I think of it."

"What is that?"