"I am so glad to get him back," she said, half to herself, "that I don't mind his making me a little damp; but I do wish you would go."
He did not seem to hear her, but after another glance at the letter, said:
"I picked this up just over there," and he nodded in the direction of the cliffs, "and I should like to find its owner; though I expect she won't thank me much when she sees its condition. Have you been here long? Do you know the people here pretty well?"
"We have been here some months," said Leslie, "and—yes, I think I know them all."
"Now, who does she mean by 'we?' Her husband?" Yorke asked himself, and an uncomfortable little pain shot through him. "No!" he assured himself; "she can't be married; too young and—too happy looking! Well, then, perhaps you know a young lady by the name of Lisle—Leslie Lisle," he said.
Leslie smiled.
"That is my name; it is I," she replied.
"By George!" he exclaimed. "Then this is your property!" and he held out the letter.
Leslie took it, and as she looked at the address flushed hotly. It was Ralph Duncombe's missing letter.
Yorke noticed the flush, and he looked aside.