"It is getting late. I ought to go," she said.
"Have you seen any of these?" He drew from his pocket a supply of post-card views, came round to her side, and took Mrs. Brutt's vacant chair. "They are rather good."
Doris glanced through them with interest. "I've got some,—but not all."
A letter, which he had pulled from his pocket with the cards, fell on the table; and without intention she caught sight of the address—
"R. R. Mau—"
The rest was hidden by a post-card, but a movement of his arm brushed the latter inadvertently aside, and she saw the whole—
"R. R. Maurice, Esquire."
He thrust it carelessly into his pocket, and she did not feel impelled to apologise for having seen what he had allowed to lie just before her eyes.
"So now I know his name—Mr. Maurice!" she said to herself. Aloud she asked: "Are you going to take a long walk?"
"Some letters have to be written first. Then I'm going for a lengthy ramble up the valley. Not likely to be back till evening."