"Is she?" His tone was more than a trifle dry.
"You know she is! Only in her last letter she said she never would believe you were a real creature till she'd met you in the flesh; she has heard all sorts of tales about you; you've been the hero of all kinds of wonderful stories, but she's never seen you once. She has the impertinence to say in this very letter that she is still convinced that you're only a person out of a novel, a mere fiction; and that, though I pretend that you're my husband, she never will believe it till you tell her so, in person, to her face. What do you think of that?"
"Vi, I think I'll wire to Carr and Phillips."
"Haven't you sent an answer to their telegram?"
"No, that's it; that's one reason why I came by the earlier train; I wanted to see you first, to know what answer I was to send."
"I see."
In her voice, although she spoke so quietly, there was a tremor, a catching of her breath, a suspicion of eagerness; all these things in those two little words, which probably did not go unnoticed.
"It's a matter on which I wished to consult you before I did anything; so much may hinge on the reply I send. The question is, what steamer could we catch?"
"Sydney!" His name burst from her rather than was uttered; her whole face was lighted up.
"When could you be ready?"