“Sure.”
“Then you saw her when you visited the lake before?”
“No.”
“How is it that you are sure you know who she is if you never saw her before?”
“You are little numb just now, Harry, or you would have thought of it yourself. She must be the buried heiress.”
Rattleton caught his breath.
“Right you are!” he exclaimed. “Why, it must be her!”
“It strikes me that way,” nodded Frank.
“By Jove!” palpitated Harry; “she is a peafect perch—I mean a perfect peach! Merry, old chap, she takes the bun!”
Frank laughed.