“Oh, Mr. Holt,” cried the young lady behind the counter of the little general shop that was also the village post office. “I have just taken a telegram for you. You can have it now if you like. It’s against the regulations, but that doesn’t matter.”
I took the yellow slip and perused the message which was from a publishing firm with whom I was negotiating, offering me a price for a manuscript I had submitted to them.
“It is a lot of money,” the girl said, with a touch of envy. “It would take me years and years to earn that at this job.”
“You’ll not be here years and years,” I replied smilingly. “Some lucky man will snap you up long before that.”
“Well, there’s no queue so far,” the girl returned dryly.
“Perhaps when Mr. Holt has quite finished, other customers may have a turn,” said a mocking voice at my elbow, and wheeling round with a quick movement that dislodged a pile of picture post cards and albums and brought them clattering to the floor, I saw Kitty Clevedon’s face flushed with pretty colour.
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I was just reading a telegram.”
“I have been down to Stone Hollow,” Kitty Clevedon went on. “In fact, I have been looking for you. I have a message for you from Lady Clevedon. She would like you to come and see her.”
“Yes? When?”
“Well, could you come now? I have my car here.”