Sir Meyville’s smile was beatific.
“That is my share,” he said. “Down in the other workshop my partners are hard at it. They, too, have met with success. You must tell your men, Captain Chalmers, never to relax their vigil. This place must be watched by night and by day. My last invention was a great step forward, but this is absolute success. For the next few months this is the most precious spot in Europe.”
“It isn’t Captain Chalmers, father,” Isabel interrupted.
Sir Meyville seemed suddenly to become still. He looked fixedly at Granet.
“Who are you, then?” he demanded. “Who are you, sir?”
“I am Captain Granet of the Royal Fusiliers, back from the Front, wounded,” Granet replied. “I can assure you that I am a perfectly trustworthy person.”
“But I don’t understand,” Sir Meyville said sharply. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to call upon your daughter,” Granet explained. “I had the pleasure of meeting her at lunch at Lady Anselman’s the other day. We have been playing golf together at Brancaster.”
Sir Meyville began to mumble to himself as he pushed them into the boat.
“My fault,” he muttered,—“my fault. Captain Granet, I thought that my daughter knew my wishes. I am not at present in a position to receive guests or visitors of any description. You will pardon my apparent inhospitality. I shall ask you, sir, to kindly forget this visit and to keep away from here for the present.”