"Why, to be sure, sir. Miss Isabel was the present Miss Pengarvon's youngest sister by the late Sir Jasper's second wife. She ran away from Broome some twenty-one or two years ago, with a young gentleman as had been staying at this house for a couple of months or more, fishing and sketching, and such like. It was in everybody's mouth at the time, I can tell you, sir."
"And what became of Miss Isabel afterwards?"
"That's more than anybody seems to know, sir, unless it's Miss Pengarvon herself. Anyhow, she was never heard of in these parts again, as far as I know."
"And what was the name of the young gentleman?"
"Ah, now you puzzle me, sir. I've been trying of late to bring it to mind, but, for the life of me, I can't. You see, sir, it's such a long time ago; and one's memory, as one gets on in life, ain't as ready as it used to be."
Here was food for thought! Dinner was announced a few minutes later, and Clement decided that, for the present, he would keep what Gruding had just told him to himself.
It was a balmy evening in early summer. The room in which dinner had been served overlooked a bowling-green at the back of the hotel, set round with borders of old-fashioned flowers. A faint shimmer of moonlight lay over everything. Clem was smoking on the balcony; Miss Brancker and Hermia were seated by the window. A shaded lamp stood on a centre table. There was a tap at the door, and in came the waiter carrying a card on a salver, which he presented to Miss Rivers with one of his most deferential bows. Hermia took it with a little surprise, and crossing to the lamp, read the name on it aloud:
"Major Strickland."
"The gentleman desires to see Miss Rivers on very particular business," said the man.
A slight sound caused them to turn their heads, and there stood Major Strickland, hat in hand, in the doorway. As he came forward the waiter went out and shut the door.