“The name and address are on it,” he said; “but promise me one thing: Don’t deliver it if you feel any fear or hesitation. All I can say is, that if you do, you will probably be making two people happy forever, because I can’t seem to get at her in any other way, and I have a conviction they have made her believe I have given her up. If you should ever need me,” he added, “telegraph me to this address.”
Then, with a last hand-shake and nods and smiles of farewell and waving of handkerchiefs, the red motor car shot down the avenue and they were off.
The handsome, kindly face of the owner of Sevenoaks with his genial blue-gray eyes and his pleasant smile seemed to float after them like a good genie along the way.
They lunched on the roadside that day under a big mulberry tree. A spring rippled near-by on purpose for Elinor’s tea and they sat on cushions on the ground, picnic fashion. It was great fun, and there was much to talk about. Billie drew out the letter and showed it to the girls. “Miss Evelyn Stone, No. 6 —— Street, Salt Lake City, Utah.”
Before delivering the letter the girls realized that they must obtain Miss Campbell’s consent, and they had been putting their heads together to devise a scheme by which their sprightly little chaperone should be won over to the cause of the lovers.
“Cousin Helen,” began Billie, “did you notice anything peculiar about Mr. Moore?”
“Peculiar? No. I thought he was one of the most normal, well set-up, well-bred young men I had ever met.”
“So did we,” echoed the girls. “We liked him so much.”
“But didn’t you notice how sad he was, cousin.”
“On the contrary, I thought he seemed very gay.”