This to Isabel, who came running out, looking very innocent and girlish.
“Good-morning, papa,” she cried, kissing him. “I did not know you were down. Good-morning, Mr Beck,” she continued shyly, as she let her hand rest in his for a moment, and then turned to her brother to kiss him affectionately. “I’m so glad you’ve come, dear Neil.”
“Let’s have breakfast, Isabel. Aunt’s not down, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, papa, and waiting for us.”
“Wonderful!” said Mr Elthorne grimly. “Run down the garden, Isabel, and fetch Alison and Sir Cheltnam in to breakfast. Will you have a cup of coffee, Beck?” he continued rather coldly.
“Thank you, sir, I have breakfasted, but—”
“Oh, he can manage another,” said Neil laughingly. “Come along, Tom;” and then to himself: “Poor boy! It will be no, for certain.”
Mr Elthorne took no further notice of the young sailor, but laid his hand upon his son’s shoulder and pointed to a clump of trees at the farther end of the park.
“I’m going to have those down, Neil.”
“Pity, isn’t it, sir?”