"Don't come to meet me," she begged,—"not that it matters, of course, only if uncle knew that you were staying there, and that you came from London, and that I had talked to you, he would want to come and call. He is one of those fussy people who like to hear themselves talk, and to make acquaintances. It's all very well for you to shiver," she added, with a little smile, "but I have to live with him."
With a laugh he said: "I'll hide, until I see you actually before the door. You will come, though?"
"I'll come," she promised, turning away with a little wave of the hand.
CHAPTER XIII
AN INFORMAL TEA-PARTY
After all, the element of unconventionality was absent from Deane's tea-party. About four o'clock, looking landwards from a little sandy knoll just in front of his strange abode, he saw two figures coming along the dyke path. A few minutes later, Ruby Sinclair and her companion came across the last little strip of shingle, and approached the spot where Deane was waiting for them.
"My uncle would like to make your acquaintance, Mr. Deane," she said.
Deane held out his hand and welcomed his visitor—a small, fussy-looking little man with a gray moustache, and a somewhat awkward air of being at his ease. He wore a tweed knickerbocker suit,—very old-fashioned, and of local make,—a flannel collar, and an ill-chosen tie. He shook hands with his host in a perfunctory sort of manner.
"Thought I must just look you up," he explained, "living out here. Such a lonely spot, too! You are going to play golf, of course?"