“Oh, no,” contradicted Anne; “she never saw him before the day we came down.” Too late she realized what she had admitted.
“Came down! Oh, then he was on your train. Ah, ha! Now we’re getting at something!” exulted Lucile.
Poor Anne’s fair complexion changed to a bright pink, as she struggled to make her words sound casual.
“He sat across from us, and we happened to notice him because he was so good-looking. We haven’t seen him for a long time.”
“I have,” spoke up Jane; “and you’d never guess where.”
“Then tell us,” said Frances.
“Last night, I was coming from the library, and because it was rather late, I took a chance on cutting through the yard back of here. As I got to the step up into this yard, I heard the sound of a typewriter in Big House. It surprised me; for I understand Mrs. Brock is quite elderly. I glanced carelessly up at the lighted windows, and there in a second floor room facing this way, sat our unknown blond friend.”
“Maybe he’s her son,” proposed Katharine.
“Son, nothing! Grandson more likely,” contradicted Hazel. “Maybe the girls will meet him. Why didn’t more of us go?”
Jane laughed. “You all had a chance, but you didn’t make the most of it.”