He felt a baffling sense of amazement over an impossible situation. “Who is it, then?” he demanded.
“Please, please don’t let us mention names. But I know. Mr. Fessenden, I recognized the envelope that boy brought up yesterday.”
“The envelope? O-oh! You did?”
“Yes. I’ve seen that style of envelope too often not to know it. Now do you understand why I want to go with you?—why I must go?”
“I’m as much at sea as ever. Why?”
She flushed vividly. “If you really can’t guess, I—I can’t tell you.”
He stared at her helplessly, then tossed both hands in a gesture of despair. “I give it up. I give you up, in fact. You fairly make my head spin! It’s getting late, Miss Yarnell. I think you’ll find a path behind the grove.”
“I’m not going to Sandywood.”
“Then I’ll leave you in possession of the yacht. Good-night.”
He took off his cap smilingly, and, turning, walked rapidly inland. He had not gone half a dozen yards when he heard a light footstep behind him, and wheeled to find her at his very heels.