“I didn’t make any. Needn’t be so peeved!... You have—have to make allowance for radio ‘fiends’; they’re savage if you disturb them!” murmured Una mischievously to the pines—her interest was beginning to be concentrated on the experiment now.
Five minutes passed. A finger was pointed at her, shooting her straight through the heart with thrill.
“Are you ... oh! are you ...” she ventured again.
“I—am.”
“Wha-at?” in a bewitched whisper.
“Just a little dot an’ dash—faint ticking—weather station in town, couple of miles off—three maybe—but I could—understand.”
She gave her hand to the sunrise, the inventor’s daughter, the new crystal flashing like a diamond. Never did queen of the middle ages, never did Begum of the Indies dream of such a ring upon her forefinger.
“L-let—me. I have been studying code a little, since father—”
Una’s lips barely fluttered upon the whisper, like a flower.
And now—now the halo was upon her dark head. She was listening in through the other girl’s ring, through the other girl’s heel, through the other girl’s heart, as it were, to the faint, faint murmur in the air.