"Nor forty thousand," she murmured.
"I should think, ma'am, you'd crinkle more than a silk-lined lady
sailing down a church aisle on Sunday."
A picture in the magazine she was toying with seemed to interest
her.
"I expect that's the signal for 'Exit Collins.' I'll say good-by
till next time, Miss Mackenzie."
"Oh, is there going to be a next time?" she asked, with elaborate
carelessness.
"Several of them."
"Indeed!"
He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote.
"I ain't the son of a prophet, but I'm venturing a prediction,"
he explained.
She had nothing to say, and she said it competently.
"Concerning an investment in futurities I'm making," he
continued.
Her magazine article seemed to be beginning, well.
"It's a little guess about how this train robbery is coming out.
If you don't mind, I'll leave it with you." He tore the page out,
put it in an empty envelope, sealed the flap, and handed it to
her.
"Open it in a month, and see whether my guess is a good one."
The dusky lashes swept round indolently. "Suppose I were to open
it to-night."
"I'll risk it," smiled the blue eyes.
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