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 . Then she softly opened her window and waited . `` It was dusk when Andrew went away . Fortunately old Hugh did not come to the door with him . As Andrew untied his horse Ursula threw the ball with such good aim that it struck him , as she had meant it to do , squarely on the head . Andrew looked up at her window . She leaned out , put her finger warningly on her lips , pointed to the ball , and nodded . Andrew , looking somewhat puzzled , picked up the ball , sprang to his saddle , and galloped off . `` So far , well , thought Ursula . But would Andrew understand ? Would he have wit enough to think of exploring the big , knobby ball for its delicate secret ? And would he be at the dance after all ? `` The evening dragged by . Time had never seemed so long to Ursula . She could not rest or sleep . It was midnight before she heard the patter of a handful of gravel on her window-panes . In a trice she was leaning out .
Below in the darkness stood Kenneth XXXXX . ''
Andrew Hugh MacNair Ursula before escape evening trice twilight window-panes