Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure.
“Really,” he exclaimed, “Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!”
Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition.
“Miss Vanderpoel,” he burst forth, “Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one—sure?”
“Yes,” from Mount Dunstan without fervour. “Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here.”
“Gee,” with feverish regret. “If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made.”
“Should you,” ventured Penzance politely, “endeavour to sell him a typewriter?”
“A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him——” and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh.
“Get next,” murmured Penzance.
“Get on the good side of him,” Mount Dunstan murmured in reply.