"Hullo!"
"Oh!" said a woman's voice. "Is that you?"
"Yes. Who do you want?"
"Mr. Rivington—Cecil Mordaunt Rivington." The syllables came with great distinctness. They seemed to have an anxious ring.
"Yes, I'm here," said the owner of the name. "Who are you?"
"I'm Ernestine. Can you hear me?"
"First-rate! What can I do for you?"
There was a pause, then:
"I had your letter," said the voice, "and I'm tremendously grateful to you. I was afraid you might be vexed."
"Not a bit of it," said Rivington genially. "Anything to oblige."