“Why, Robert Orme!” she exclaimed. “Wherever did you come from?”
“The usual place. Are you and Tom at home this evening?”
“I’m so sorry. We’re going out with some new friends. Wish I knew them well enough to ask you along. Can you have some golf with us at Arradale to-morrow afternoon?”
“Delighted! Say, Bessie, do you know a girl who runs a black touring-car?”
“What?”
“Do you know a tall, dark girl who has a black touring-car?”
“I know lots of tall, dark girls, and several of them have black touring-cars. Why?”
“Who are they?”
There was a pause and a little chuckle; then: “Now, Bob, that won’t do. You must tell me all about it to-morrow. Call for us in time to catch the one-four.”
That was all that Orme could get out of her and after a little banter and a brief exchange of greetings with Tom, who was called to the telephone by his wife, the wire was permitted to rest.