“At last, I have heard from my dearest friend,” she said. “You remember what I told you about Cecilia? Here is a letter—a long delightful letter—from the Engadine, left at the door by some gentleman unknown. I was questioning the servant when you rang the bell.”
“You may question me, if you prefer it. I arrived just as the gentleman was shutting your garden gate.”
“Oh, tell me! what was he like?”
“Tall, and thin, and dark. Wore a vile republican-looking felt hat. Had nasty ill-tempered wrinkles between his eyebrows. The sort of man I distrust by instinct.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t shave.”
“Do you mean that he wore a beard?”
“Yes; a curly black beard.”
Emily clasped her hands in amazement. “Can it be Alban Morris?” she exclaimed.
The doctor looked at her with a sardonic smile; he thought it likely that he had discovered her sweetheart.