“Doesn’t it? Want to join?”
“What? Butt in on a double bridal tour? Excuse me with thanks.”
“No butt in about it. You can go to Laconia, get yourself a car from the garage, and motor to the Bungalow. That’s at the third corner of my little triangular piece of mountain and forest. By the practice of expert woodcraft and dodging you can avoid seeing the others.”
“Wouldn’t know them if I did. Any other agreeable surprises about the resort?”
“No. Oh, yes. I nearly forgot. There’s a little friend of Gloria Greene’s. Girl. Tired out. Too much gayety or something. Don’t know what it is or who she is, but she’s up against it for a month’s rest. So Miss Greene wished her on Boulder Brook, and welcome.”
“Where does she go?” inquired Remsen suspiciously. “To the Cave? Or the Castle on the Crags? Or the Haunted Manor House? Or the Co-educational Club? Or which one of the numerous institutions you maintain in your private city?”
“She goes to the Farmhouse. Mrs. Bond, my housekeeper, is looking after her. Seclusion is her watchword. If you see her, make a noise like a dry leaf and blow away. You’ll go, won’t you?”
Remsen meditated. “It certainly seems made to order. And it’s mighty good of you, old man. Yes, I’ll just take you up on that.”
“There’s a train at nine o’clock in the morning. To-morrow?”
“Make it the day after. I’ve got some things to attend to.”