"I tried to get a word with you last night," said Miss Vickers. "I was down at the bottom of your garden whistling for over ten minutes as hard as I could whistle. I wonder you didn't hear me."
"Hear you!" cried Mr. Chalk, guiltily conscious of a feeling of disappointment quite beyond his control. "What do you mean by coming and whistling for me, eh? What do you mean by it?"
"I wanted to see you private," said Miss Vickers, calmly, "but it's just as well. I went and saw Mr. Tredgold this morning instead."
"On a matter of business," said Mr. Tredgold, looking at her. "She came to me, as one of the ordinary public, about some—ha—land she's interested in."
"An island," corroborated Miss Vickers.
Mr. Chalk took a chair and looked round in amazement. "What, another?" he said, faintly.
Mr. Tredgold coughed. "My client is not a rich woman," he began.
"Chalk knows that," interrupted Mr. Stobell. "The airs and graces that girl will give herself if you go on like that——"
"But she has some property there which she is anxious to obtain," continued Mr. Tredgold, with a warning glance at the speaker. "That being so——"
"Make him wish he may die first," interposed Miss Vickers, briskly.