“It is as certain as any business can be. It is a matter I thoroughly understand, but I will tell you all about it. If you will pardon me a moment I will bring you the papers, as I should like to have your advice, and it is early yet. You don’t want to go to bed, I suppose?”
“Not for hours.”
Mensmore rose, but before he reached the door a gentle tap heralded the appearance of the hall-porter.
“There is a letter for the gentleman. Monsieur is not in his room. He is reported to be here, so I bring it.”
Mensmore took the note, read it with a smile and a growing flush, and handed it to the barrister, saying: “Under the circumstances I think you ought to see this. Isn’t she a brick?”
The tiny missive ran:
“Dearest One,—You must forgive me, but we are both so miserable about that wretched money that I told mother everything. She likes you, and though she gave me a blowing up, she has promised to give me £500 to-morrow. We can never thank her sufficiently. Do come around and see me for a minute. I will be in the verandah until eleven.
“Ever yours,
“Phyllis.”
Claude returned the note.
“Luck! you’re the luckiest fellow in the South of France!” he said. “Why, here’s the mother plotting with the daughter on your behalf. Sir William hasn’t the ghost of a chance. Off you go to that blessed verandah.”