"I say," said Molly, "had you met him before this morning, or did you introduce yourselves?"
"We introduced ourselves. I found he knew a place where I stayed last summer. Don't you remember," he said, looking across at Amy, "the old house I told you about?"
"I remember. Where you wrote that bit,'Waiting by the Sundial'?"
Scarlett nodded.
"Yes. Well, I found he knew it well—in fact it turned out that he was a connection——"
"What, of your friends there?"
"No, not of my friends, of the old family who used to have the place."
"Oh, your friends aren't the old family then?" said Molly.
"No, they are not. I ought to say they were not—there were only two of them," he added in an explanatory fashion, "old Mr. Hayes, and his niece Miss Strange, and Mr. Harding told me to-day that the old man was dead. I didn't know it."
Molly looked up sympathetically, but, as he did not seem to be over-powered with grief, she went on, after a moment—