“He must have walked frequently between your house and his,” said Edward, “because the trail looks as if it had been well trod.”
“And the man who killed the panther?” asked Billie. “Who was he, Virginia? I would like to give him something if it could be arranged. He saved our lives.”
“He does not need anything. He would not like a present, I’m sure, for what he did.”
“You know him, then?”
“I believe so. He is a man who has been staying in this neighborhood for some time.”
And not another word could be got out of Virginia. Soft, pretty little creature that she was, it could be seen that she had a will of her own.
They were not late to luncheon and Miss Campbell had not been uneasy, but it seemed strange to them to be sitting around a snowy damask-spread table in a beautiful big dining-room, with softly treading waiters at every hand to do their bidding and music floating to them from the piazza. Was it only that morning that they had been lost in a wilderness with poisonous snakes and wild animals about them; or had the forest after all been enchanted and was it all a dream?
After drinking tea in the Cocoanut Grove and listening to the concert, they strolled until dinner time in the splendid avenue of palms. But there was one more sensation for the Motor Maids before bedtime. Edward sought them in the evening, and calling Billie off from the others, gave her a letter.
“This was in the old cigar box,” he said.
It was addressed to “Ignatius Donahue, Esq.,” and Billie, after consulting with Elinor, added that gentleman’s New York address under the name, stamped it and dropped it in the mail box at the desk.