At last French, tearing up some calculations and throwing the pieces in the wastepaper basket, rose to his feet, lit a cigar, and strolled out.
"Won't you come out on the Downs?" said he as he left the room.
"No, thank you," said Effie; "I'm busy."
She waited till she heard his footsteps on the verandah; then she rose from her cocked-hat making, and went to the writing-table.
She got on the chair just vacated by her father, took a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, dipped a pen in ink, and began to address the envelope in a sprawling hand.
"Mr. Giveen,
"The Bungalow,
"Drumboyne,
"Nr. Cloyne, Ireland,"
wrote Effie.
Then she dried the envelope, and hid it in the blotting-pad.
She took the sheet of paper, dipped the pen in ink, and wrote on the paper with care and labour:
"April fool!"