"Well, well, what are we waiting for, demmit?" in a querulous tone. "Time we were busy. I've got to drive six miles to a telegraph office, confounded nuisance, just to tell Hadley we've caught our man… Morley! What the devil are you doing here, eh? Come along with me; I can't write telegrams; never could… You, Patricia! Dash it, this is no place for you, you know!" he protested, rather defensively.
She spoke for the first time. It was one of those warm, soft, ginch-like voices also. She looked down from her contemplation of the stone peacock.
"Of course not, Dad," she agreed, with such readiness that the colonel stared at her.
"Eh?" he said.
"Of course not." The hazel eyes grew sombre. They flickered past Hugh, and then looked squarely at him for the first time. They had such an overpowering effect that the shooting-gallery bell clanged six times in rapid succession, and with unnerving noise. Patricia went on in bright helpfulness:
"Shall I take Mr. Donovan up to The Grange and introduce him to Mother? And I'm sure he must be dying for a dr — for something to eat."
She smiled. The colonel caught up with the suggestion with his usual air of inspiration.
"That's it, by Jove!" he assented warmly. "Take him along. Introduce him. Oh, yes; and that reminds me… Patricia, this is Joe Donovan's son. Hugh, my boy, let me present my daughter Patricia. Patricia, this is Hugh Donovan."
"How do you do?" said Donovan obediently.
"Are you sure you've got it clear now?" she inquired. "Right-ho, then! Gome along with me; do."