It was from Lady Price, and dated Holten Moat:
“My son is in America. Barrister. Tall, thin, dark. Black mole under left ear. Scar on right wrist. Telegraph if in trouble.”
At that particular moment Mr. Price appeared on the corridor, engaged in chewing a tooth-pick.
I went to him, and, without a single word, seized his right hand, baring his wrist. The scar was there. I then wheeled him round, and took a rapid and searching look behind his left ear.
“Ah!” he laughed, “looking for the macula materna? So you’ve been telegraphing home, you incredulous old codger,” scanning the open telegram.
“Read it,” I said. I should mention that the black mole was in its place.
“Why, you’ll frighten the old lady into fits. Write her at once, Crosse, and tell her I’m as safe as the milk in a cocoanut. Don’t spare your dollars, old man!”
When I left Newport the Finches were still at Sea View Cottage, and my friend Mr. Price on a visit in the house. About six months later I received cards to attend at the nuptials of Miss Hattie Julia Maria Anne Finche to Herbert Price. An attack of the gout prevented my putting in an appearance, but I sent both bride and groom a little present. To the daughter of my old friend I gave a pearl necklace; to his son-in-law a diamond ring, with the words inscribed in raised letters, “De l’audace. Toujours de l’audace.”
I may mention that Grey Seymour and his charming bride honored me with a visit some time, later on, en route to Europe.