"Ann," she said, turning to me and speaking in an undertone, "there is a long-distance call for you. The operator has rung up several times, then said that the 'party' would call again at twelve-thirty."
"Oh, mother!" I cried, with a great throb of pleasure. In a few minutes I should be listening to the sound of his voice, and that was a deal more satisfying than the aroma of cigar smoke in a letter!
"Little runaway, where have you been all morning?" I heard in his dear, drawling tones after the connections had been made and listening ears supposed to be removed from the line. "I've been trying for three hours to get you."
"I've been out for my Sunday morning tramp," I answered, a sudden overwhelming longing to see him sweeping over me. His voice sounded so near that I could scarcely believe that half the length of the state lay between us.
"Alone?"
There was no drawl to this query.
"No, not alone. I had your letter with me."
"When are you going to answer it, sweetheart?"
"To-day. I have already thought up some of the things I'm going to say to you."
It might have been thought transmission, or it might have been chance, but at all events, it is the honest truth, that the next question was the one in my mind.