Could this heavy, elderly man, with a large, reddish face, be her father? Why Kaspar at the landing-stage looked more distinguished. Of course his clothes and voice were all right—but——
She nodded curtly.
“I got your letters,” he resumed, “and as I was in Germany motoring, I thought I’d come on here and look you up. Seeing is believing. I’m your father, you know.”
“Yes—are you?”
“I say, let’s walk about a bit, where we can talk. Where’s your mother? I bar meeting her.”
“She has gone across the bridge to say good-bye to some friends; we are leaving next week. She won’t be back for an hour. I’m to meet her at the five o’clock boat.”
“Oh, so then we have a clear hour! Come along to the National.”
For a perceptible pause Cara’s hesitation was obvious: she neither spoke nor stirred—and her reluctance enormously enhanced her value in her father’s eyes.—However, as she said to herself, she might as well hear, what he had to propose—no harm—in that!
As they strolled together past the shops, Blagdon was gratified to note how many eyes were bent on his companion. This was the sort of girl that appealed to him; she was well turned out, too, and walked as if the whole earth belonged to her.
“Lived here always?” he asked abruptly.