(A young lady hidden among the rocks and pines blushes crimson as this speech is wafted to her on the still evening air, and stamps her little foot in vexatious indignation.)
"Her manner to-day," continued Manton, "showed plainly that your letter this morning hurt her exceedingly."
"Miss Moreley! Letter this morning! My letter! Come, now. By Jove! Stop a moment. I believe— Tell me, did you ever chance to see her handwriting?"
"Yes: I've mailed several of her letters to you."
"You don't say so! Is that her writing?"
"Yes."
Dudley muttered something incoherent about "little wretch!" "Jane Jennings!" and, pointing excitedly to the scene of his recent discomfiture, asked, "Lives there, doesn't she?"
Manton, too astonished at his friend's remarkable conduct to speak, nodded assent, and Dudley hastened away toward the house, shouting back, "I'll see you later, old fellow!"
"Oh, don't! don't! don't!" came a shrill voice from among the rocks.
Both turned. "Why, here she is now!" cried Manton.