Yours very sincerely,
William Denton
I must confess, Diary, to a seizure of acute curiosity. Weakly, I bade Adeline tell her master to wait on me at four, and sending for Sarah ordered extra tea with which to placate the savage appetite of my self-bidden guest. We had tea out-of-doors, for October has come in like a spring day, warm and clear and beautiful. I was in my hammock, whither Sarah and Father had conveyed me at three, just before Father's train left Green Hill, and had therefore an hour of speculation. And it was not without a certain thrill of excitement that I saw a tall, lean figure swing across the lawn towards me, and appropriate the low chair beside me and the tea table.
"Good afternoon," I said politely.
"Good afternoon," he answered, "it was nice of you to let me come."
Wiggles, a sixth doggie sense telling him I had a caller, came racing across to us from the kitchen garden, where I have no doubt he had been destructively employed, and greeted the Doctor with an exaggerated display of cordiality. When he was disposed of finally, under my visitor's chair, "Lovely day," I proffered, one hand concealing a tiny yawn.
"Lovely!" agreed Dr. Denton, enthusiastically.
Conversation languished. Died.
Finally, the silence becoming quite unbearable, I stole a look at the enemy. His lips were pursed in a noiseless whistle, his hands were informally in his pocket, and his eyes were dancing. It is disconcerting that I should have to acknowledge his extreme good looks. I never did care much for good-looking men, anyway. They're so disgustingly conceited. And Dr. Denton possesses an almost spectacular combination of features, coloring, and build.
"Did you speak?" he asked gently.
"I did not!" said I, with emphasis.