He was a dashing young fellow, and a political crony of old Hugh.
No doubt he would be at the dance that night.

Oh, if she could get speech for but a moment with him! "When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from the window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun yarn her father had flung on the floor.

For a moment she gazed at it resentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it.

The next moment she was at her table, writing a brief note to Kenneth MacNair.
When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray ball to a considerable depth, pinned the note on it, and rewound the yarn over it.

A gray ball, the color of the twilight, might escape observation, where a white missive fluttering down from an upper window would surely be seen by someone.