“I know what I’m going to do,” he said, drawing a note-book and a pencil from his pocket and beginning to write, holding it so she could see.
“Do you want me to look over your shoulder?” she asked.
“Please.”
She did; and it affected his penmanship so that the writing grew wabbly. Still she could read:
(Telegram)
To Sailing Master, Yacht Thendara, Bar Harbor:
Put boat out of commission. I may be away all summer.
Wayne.
“How far is it to the station?” asked Wayne, turning to look into her eyes.
“Only five miles,” she said. “I’ll walk with you if you like. Shall I?”