THE SIAMESE CAT
report. Good fun! Got a chit here that ought to please you!—O Boy, dua stengah, Scotch and Tansan. Where the mischief is the thing?"
He fumbled through many pockets, his deep-set eyes beaming kindly. "Miracle what rubbish a man stows away in his poche. Nice girl that, Miss Holborow, eh?"
From a pocket-book he dumped a small heap of paper scraps on the table, and began sorting them. Two or three he read smiling, and tore up. "Drunk again, Giles Borkman," he commented, leniently, to his alter ego. At last, seizing a fresh white envelope, he pushed the remaining scraps aside. "There's her chit," he said. "No need of your writing. Just reply 'Yes' or 'No' by me—Here's fortune!"
"Fortune!" echoed Scarlett, happy and eager. He touched the glass to his lips, set it down, and opened the letter:
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