"I saw you.... I couldn't help it.... I had to speak...." She was out of breath. When he turned and the light of recognition flamed into his eyes, she could have died with happiness. He caught her hand. He stammered with joy.
"Everywhere," he said, "I've been looking ... hoping ... I've walked about.... I've never thought of anything else...."
"Quick," she said. "I've no time. They're in the cab there. It's our last chance. Can you remember this without writing it down?"
"Yes."
"Well—Lucy Moon, The Rectory, Hawkesworth, N. Yorkshire. KES ... Yes.... Write at once...."
Even in her agitation she noticed the strength and confidence of his smile.
"I'll write to-day," he assured her. "You're not married?"
"No. It's Miss."
"I'm not either." He caught her hand. "I'll find you before the week's out."
She fled. She was in the cab. Aunt Comstock and Simon regarded her with terrified eyes.