“What will you give me,” Ponty asked, when he had opened and glanced at it, “if I'll read this out?”
“Whom's it from?” asked Lucilla.
“The last person on earth that you'd expect,” he answered. “Come, what will you give?”
“I believe it's from Prince Bertrandoni himself,” cried Lucilla, agog. “If it is, we'll give you fits if you don't read it out—and at once.” She showed him her clenched fist.
“Very good. Under that threat, I'll read it,” remarked Ponty, and he read: “Arrived safely, but homesick for dear Villa Santa Cecilia. My mother joins her thanks to mine for your constant kindness. Will write as soon as an hour of tranquillity permits. Please give my affectionate greetings to Lady Dor and Miss Adgate, and beg them not to forget their and your devoted Bertram.”
“There!” crowed Lucilla. “What did I tell you?”
Ponty looked up blankly. “What did you tell me?”
“That he would come back—that this was only a momentary interruption.”
“Does he say anything about coming back?” Ponty asked, scrutinizing the straw-coloured paper. “That must have missed my eye.”
“Boo,” said Lucilla. “What does he mean by the hope of an early reunion?”