Then she laughed.
"It is too warm to argue, or I would suggest that the War Office and the Admiralty have diplomatic ways sometimes. Mr. Neville looks more of a soldier than anything else. But he's not so keen as he has been. He speaks so indifferently of people and things in general."
"He classes himself amongst the failures in life," said the Admiral. "That's what he said to me; but he's not the fellow to sit down under it."
"I should hope not."
Sidney's lips curled a little, then mischief stole into her eyes.
"Let us hope Monnie will take him in hand, dad. I long that some inferior man should come along and capture her proud heart. It would be glorious to see her knuckle under and have to defer to her lord and master. And he looks as if he would manage the woman he cared for."
"I think he has more grit than his father," said Admiral Urquhart, puffing out a thin column of smoke and watching it ascend in the still air.
"I'm waiting for your news," said Sidney. "We won't dissect Mr. Neville too thoroughly."
So her father turned to his "Times;" but he was very comfortable, and the atmosphere was a sleepy one. His voice began to waver, the paper slipped from his fingers, and a gentle snore told Sidney that further reading was over for the present. She dropped her work in her lap and gazed dreamily over the water; shadows gathered and deepened in her eyes. Then she sprang up and slipped quietly down some broad steps close by. There was a light boat moored to the stone wall. With deft fingers she loosened the rope, stepped in, and taking up the light pair of oars, rowed gently away from the garden and down the river towards the sea.
Then, alone at last, she raised her head with a passionate gesture.