“Did you encourage her to leave me?”
“I did not. I had not the slightest idea that she had left The Sanctuary until Lady Cynthia told me, halfway to London this morning.”
Sir Timothy was silent for several moments.
“Have you any idea in your own mind,” he persisted, “as to where she has gone and for what purpose?”
“Not the slightest in the world,” Francis declared. “I am just as anxious to hear from her; and to know where she is, as you seem to be.”
Sir Timothy sighed.
“I am disappointed,” he admitted. “I had hoped to obtain some information from you. I must try in another direction.”
“Since you are here, Sir Timothy,” Francis said, as his visitor prepared to depart, “may I ask whether you have any objection to my marrying your daughter?”
Sir Timothy frowned.
“The question places me in a somewhat difficult position,” he replied coldly. “In a certain sense I have a liking for you. You are not quite the ingenuous nincompoop I took you for on the night of our first meeting. On the other hand, you have prejudices against me. My harmless confession of sympathy with criminals and their ways seems to have stirred up a cloud of suspicion in your mind. You even employ a detective to show the world what a fool he can look, sitting in a punt attempting to fish, with one eye on the supposed abode of crime.”