"I hadn't. I hired one."
"Where did you go? Anywhere nice?"
Instead of answering my question she said, with her eyes still on the flowers, "I've got something for you, Uncle George."
"And what's that?"
"Here it is."
From some tuck in the region of her waist she drew out a note, which she handed to me. With my elbow on my pillow I read it. It was on a page torn out from a sketch-book, and it ran:
"I hear you're laid up and hope you'll soon be all right again. I didn't thank you properly the other night; I couldn't; you know what I mean. Don't worry about my not keeping my promise; that's all right; everything's as-you-were till you're about again. But then I want to see you as soon as ever you can. You get well and don't worry.
"D. R."
Slowly I folded up the note and put it into the pocket of my pyjama-jacket. She seemed fully to expect my silence. The shadow of a marten fled swiftly across the sill of the window. The house-martens built at Ker Annic.
At last, "I see," I said slowly. "I see."