"You don't know Charlotte," said Mr. Barrett, feebly.
"I think I do," was the reply. "However, we'll make sure. I suppose you've got friends in Melbourne?"
"A few," said Mr. Barrett, guardedly.
"Come down to the post-office and cable to one of them."
Mr. Barrett hesitated. "I'll write," he said, slowly. "It's an awkward thing to cable; and there's no hurry. I'll write to Jack Adams, I think."
"It's no good writing," said Miss Lindsay, firmly. "You ought to know that."
"Why not?" demanded the other.
"Because, you foolish man," said the girl, calmly, "before your letter got there, there would be one from Melbourne saying that he had been choked by a fish-bone, or died of measles, or something of that sort."
Mr. Barrett, hardly able to believe his ears, stopped short and looked at her. The girl's eyes were moist with mirth and her lips trembling. He put out his hand and took her wrist in a strong grip.
"That's all right," he said, with a great gasp of relief. "Phew! At one time I thought I had lost you."
"By heart-disease, or drowning?" inquired Miss Lindsay, softly.