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"Miss Lynde," repeated Miles, as though searching his memory.
"Yes, quite a beautiful girl, with wonderful golden hair. Do say you have met her, Mr. Fallon!"
Miss Anamite—or was it Miss Anamite?—clasped her hands ecstatically and viewed Miles in strained suspense.
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"Well, of course, I may have met a
Miss Lynde; in fact, I am almost certain
that I have; a Miss—ah—Mary
Linde, I think."
He waited craftily.
"No, you haven't met her then. But you must, positively you must! She is staying at the Inn. If you do meet her"—Miss Anamite Ruggles positively giggled!—"if you do, I'm almost sure we shall have a romance at Maple Green!" She beamed excitedly at her sister.
