Somehow, he finally stood before her with bared head and wildly-beating pulse.
“I—I came in response to your note.” He did not stammer it so awkwardly as he feared he would.
“My note?” The finely-pencilled brows were elevated in bewitching perplexity. “My note?”
“Yes—the note you—I have it here somewhere.” Hammond at first searched vainly through his pockets for the tiny bit of paper. He felt he was somehow making a confounded ass of himself.
“But I—I wrote you no note. There must be some mistake.” There was the faintest trace of amused curiosity in her tones.
Hammond suddenly felt like one who drops from the clouds into a pit of gloom. Either he had been humbugged or he had accosted the wrong woman.
III
At last his fingers encountered the little folded square. He opened it out and passed it to her. “You see it was unsigned,” he explained. “I was not in a position to know who it was from—”
He was cut short by a soft peal of silvery laughter. “Some one with an odd sense of humour is behind this,” she said passing the note back to him. “But the joke is on both of us.”
“On both of us?”