For an hour or more we rowed down the river towards the
Long Cloud, and then drew into the shade of a little island for lunch.
When we came to the rendezvous, where picnic parties generally feasted,
we found a fire still smoking and the remnants of a lunch scattered
about. A party of picnickers had evidently been there just before us.
Ruth suggested that it might be some of the tourists from the hotel. This
seemed very probable.
There were scraps of newspaper on the ground, and among them was an empty
envelope. Mechanically I picked it up, and read the superscription. What
I saw there I did not think necessary to disclose to the other members of
the party; but, as unconcernedly as possible, for Ruth Devlin's eyes were
on me, I used it to light a cigar--inappropriately, for lunch would soon
be ready.
"What was the name on the envelope?" she said. "Was there one?"
I guessed she had seen my slight start. I said evasively: "I fancy there
was, but a man who is immensely interested in a new brand of cigar--"
"You are a most deceitful man," she said. "And, at the least, you are
selfish in holding your cigar more important than a woman's curiosity.
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