"If not asking too great a favor, may I request that you will call at my house, in your capacity of lawyer.
"As I do not leave my own home, you will pardon this informal method of requesting your services. The lawyer here cannot do my work.
"Yours respectfully,
"Hermione Cavanagh."
He was too much struck with amazement and delight to answer the messenger at once. When he did so, his voice was very business-like.
"Will Miss Cavanagh be at liberty this morning?" he asked. "I shall be obliged to return to the city after dinner."
"She told me to say that any time would be convenient to her," was the answer.
"Then say to her that I will be at her door in half an hour."
"She lives on the road to the depot, where the two rows of poplars are," she suddenly declared, as she paused at the door.
"I know," he began, and blushed, for the woman had given him a quick glance of surprise. "I noticed the poplars," he explained.
She smiled as she passed out, and that made him crimson still more.
"Do I wear my heart on my sleeve?" he murmured to himself, in secret vexation. "If so, I must wrap it about with a decent cloak of reserve before I go into the presence of one who has such power to move it." And he was glad Edgar was not at home to mark his excitement.