Colonel Maitland chuckled. "Heavens! What a fire-eater you are, Sutgrove. One might almost take you for a sub in a cavalry regiment."
I made no answer, and Miss Maitland remarked—"I think that is very unkind of you. You spoke of the Motor Pirate as if you owed him a grudge. I think we all ought to be supremely thankful to him for having made the wettest day we have had this year pass quite pleasantly."
Bear him a grudge? I should think I did, but at the same time, I had no intention of confessing the reason, so I said—
"Then we'll drink long life and prosperity to him the next time we have a bottle of that same port your father approved so highly last night." Then I turned to the Colonel, and made a clumsy attempt to turn the subject of conversation. "Is your verdict upon my restaurant equally favourable to-day, sir?"
Colonel Maitland's eyes twinkled. "I have nothing to regret. As for the port with which we finished, it seems to me the sort of stuff dreams are made of. Do you know that the glass I drank—was it one glass or two?—gave me the most vivid dream I have enjoyed since my childhood?"
"Indeed! Let's hear it, Colonel," I replied.
"Do tell us," said his daughter, as she rose from her seat, and put her arms coaxingly round her father's neck. "Do tell us like a real, good, kind, old-fashioned parent."
The Colonel passed his hand lovingly over his daughter's sunny hair.
"Sutgrove and Mannering don't want to hear about an old fellow's silly dreams," he said. "Besides, it was all about the Motor Pirate, and I can see that Sutgrove for one is quite sick of the subject."
I was, and I wasn't, but I speedily declared that I was not when I saw that his daughter was bent upon hearing the story. So he started upon a prosy description as to how the fresh air had sent him to sleep, not saying a word about the port, and I ceased to listen to him, preferring to devote the whole of my attention to his daughter, who had seated herself upon a footstool at his feet, and was looking up into his face with a pretty affectionate glance in her deep blue eyes, enough to set any one longing to be the recipient of similar regard. Her form, attitude, expression, all made so deep an impression upon me, that I have only to close my eyes at any time to see her just as she was then—the little witch! She knew full well how to make the most of her attractions, and though she has often declared since to me that the pose was quite unpremeditated, I could never quite believe her.