“Yes, that is the man,” said Vanna quietly when she had examined the sketch.
“Ah; I thought as much,” remarked her uncle drily.
“And now that you have found out all this about Sir Gilbert Clare, in what way does it, or can it, affect me?” queried Vanna presently.
The Captain regarded her with a pitying smile, as he might a child who had asked him some utterly preposterous question.
“Cannot you see that the fact of your father-in-law being a rich and childless man may be made—I say made—to affect your fortunes very materially—very materially indeed? That is,” he added a moment after, “if you only know how to put the knowledge thus acquired to a practical use.”
Giovanna shook her head. It was evident that she could not in the least comprehend what her uncle was driving at.
The Captain’s shoulders went up nearly to his ears. “What a very fortunate thing it is, my dear, that at such an important crisis of your life you have by your side a thorough man of the world like myself—and one so completely devoted to your interests! Were you my own child I could not entertain a greater regard and affection for you than I do.”
Vanna sat grandly unmoved, her statuesque features betraying no slightest trace of emotion.
“As cold as a marble goddess,” muttered the Captain under his breath as he produced his cigar case, for he was a man who regarded smoking as one of the necessaries of existence.
For a little space he smoked in silence; then all at once he said, as if it were an echo of some thought he had been revolving in his mind: “What a pity, what an enormous pity it is, that your child did not live till now!”