From the pocket of her shell-pink sweater she drew forth a small white box of startlingly familiar appearance.
"Does this belong to you?" demanded she.
Beneath the mockery of her eyes Robert Morton could feel the color mount to his temples.
"Well, well!" he said, with a ghastly attempt at gaiety, "So you were C. L. G."
"Naturally. Didn't the initials suggest the possibility?"
"No—eh—yes; that is, I hadn't thought about it," he floundered. "It's funny how things come about sometimes, isn't it? I want you to meet my aunt, Miss Morton, and my friend Mr. Spence. I am visiting here."
Immediately the dainty Miss Cynthia was all smiles.
"So it is relatives that bring you to the Cape!" said she.
Robert Morton nodded. She seemed mollified.
"Didn't Roger write you that we had taken a house at Belleport for the season?" she asked.