Then came a perfect jumble. Mr. Grimm followed it with difficulty, a difficulty utterly belied by the quizzical lines about his mouth. As he caught it, it was like this: " J—5—n—s—e—f—v—a—t—5—f," followed by an arbitrary signal which is not in the Morse code: "Dash-dot-dash-dash!"
Mr. Grimm carefully stored that jumble away in some recess of his brain, along with the unknown signal.
"D—5—5—f," he read, and then, on to the end: "B—f—i—n—g 5—v—e—f w—h—e—n g g—5—e—s."
That was all, apparently. The soft clatter of the fan against the arm of the chair ran on meaninglessly after that.
"May I bring you an ice?" Mr. Grimm asked at last.
"If you will, please," responded the señorita, "and when you come back I'll reward you by presenting you to Miss Thorne. You'll find her charming; and Mr. Cadwallader has monopolized her long enough."
Mr. Grimm bowed and left her. He had barely disappeared when Mr. Rankin lounged along in front of Miss Thorne. He glanced at her, paused and greeted her effusively.
"Why, Miss Thorne!" he exclaimed. "I'm delighted to see you here. I understood you would not be present, and—"
Their hands met in a friendly clasp as she rose and moved away, with a nod of excuse to Mr. Cadwallader. A thin slip of paper, thrice folded, passed from Mr. Rankin to her. She tugged at her glove, and thrust the little paper, still folded, inside the palm.
"Is it yes, or no?" Miss Thorne asked in a low tone.