"He may have been pretty near right, Mrs. Bond."
"Well I never was more surprised than right now," she replied.
"Good night, and don't worry," answered the big fellow. "Just keep your eyes open and call me up even if it is but a single thought that you think might have a bearing upon the case."
From that moment Mrs. Bond became a silent watcher over every circumstance that connected itself with the master of Dreamy Hollow—but a week passed by and all was serene. It must have been some one other than Parkins that wore the black beard and mustache.
"Well, Mary," said Updyke one day, as evening drew near, "I'm ready to give that little us-two party. Shall we go as we are, or shall we make it to-morrow night?"
"To-morrow night, dear—I want to look pretty when you continue that proposal," she teased. "Or is that withdrawn?"
"That will never happen, little lady. You be ready when I drive up at seven-thirty sharp to-morrow evening. After we take a little spin we will drop back to the Swathmere and dine on the roof."
"Oh, that will be tremendous!" exclaimed the delighted Miss Johnson, as she withdrew her hand from the grip of her big fellow.
An hour later, as she sat in her cozy room building air castles instead of reading the book that she held in her hand, the telephone rang, and the castles all tumbled as she answered the call.
"Am leaving for Dreamy Hollow—want to go along? It is a lovely night—moon and all that—love to have you—back in three or four hours."