"Of course I am. Country people must be gossips, unless they're recluses. You see, Archie lived all his life close here. His father was one of the Admiral's cronies. He died two years ago. Archie and Sidney grew up together, and there was a kind of boy and girl engagement between them. We all expected a marriage, but I fancy Sidney could not make up her mind to leave her father. She was content to drift along. Then General Hughes died, and Archie grew restless, and the next thing we heard was that he was going out to India as secretary to a distant relative of his out there, who was Governor in some outlandish province. And then the other day, to our great surprise, we heard of his marriage. So I suppose, after all, there was nothing but cousinly feeling between him and Sidney. He was a second cousin of hers. She and Monica are great friends, but it is a pity she does not marry. She is not like Monica; she has not half such a self-reliant nature."
Randolph did not speak. He was wondering at the coincidence of his coming down to this place to hear of the man who had stolen his fiancée from him. And he alone—unless Monica knew her friend's secret—had by mere accident discovered that Sidney had suffered as well as himself in that transaction.
Aunt Dannie continued:
"I am interested in Sidney; she is a little different from most girls; it comes of being chiefly associated with men. Her mother died when she was five. She had a brother two years younger than herself. He was in the Navy, and a rollicking sailor he was, but he died of fever a few years ago. It was a great grief to the Admiral. She is straight and blunt at times, and has no airs or graces, but she is not quite so masculine as Monica."
Then the old lady rambled on about some of Monica's misdemeanours, and Randolph hardly heeded her.
The sudden appearance of Chuckles, demanding his presence at the sheep-shearing, made him change his company, and for a time his thoughts.
Sidney, if he had only known it, was at the same time discussing him with her father. Admiral Urquhart spent most of his afternoons on the lower lawn by the river. Sidney established him there, with his pipe and newspaper, with clockwork regularity directly luncheon was over. He had his own chair, and Major Urquhart had his, but the Major was not a slave to his afternoon nap as was the Admiral. He was a restless man by nature, and generally had more on hand than he could possibly get through. He seldom sat down till tea-time. It was half-past three now, and in her white linen dress and cool shady hat, Sidney approached her father with her work-basket under her arm.
"Now, dad, I'm ready if you are. The leading article first of all, please, and then details after."
Admiral Urquhart turned over the sheet of the "Times" with alacrity. There was nothing he enjoyed more than reading the paper to his daughter and discussing the degeneracy of old England. But he paused for a moment, paper in hand.
"A nice fellow, Neville is; very like his father, who was the most ultra-conscientious beggar that I ever came across. But it was his own undoing. He never did much in politics."