“Naturally,” he admitted. “Let us stay and have lunch and try again.”
She shook her head with a little sigh of regret.
“You see, the car is waiting,” she pointed out. “We are expected home. I shan’t be a minute putting my clubs away.”
They sped swiftly along the level road towards St. David’s Hall. Far in the distance they saw it, built upon that strange hill, with the sunlight flashing in its windows. He looked at it long and curiously.
“I think,” he said, “that yours is the most extraordinarily situated house I have ever seen. Fancy a gigantic mound like that in the midst of an absolutely flat marsh.”
She nodded.
“There is no other house quite like it in England,” she said. “I suppose it is really a wonderful place. Have you looked at the pictures?”
“Not carefully,” he told her.
“You must before you leave,” she insisted. “Mr. Fentolin is a great judge, and so was his father.”
Their road curved a little to the sea, and at its last bend they were close to the pebbly ridge on which the Tower was built. He touched the electric bell and stopped the car.