After they had given him tea among the scents and songs of the sunken garden outside the library window, they set him on his way. The shadows were lengthening and the sunlight falling in deepening gold when they walked up the avenue and shook hands with him at the big entrance gates.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “you've treated me grand--as fine as silk, and it won't be like Little Willie to forget it. When I go back to New York it'll be all I can do to keep from getting the swell head and bragging about it. I've enjoyed myself down to the ground, every minute. I'm not the kind of fellow to be likely to be able to pay you back your kindness, but, hully gee! if I could I'd do it to beat the band. Good-bye, gentlemen--and thank you--thank you.”
Across which one of their minds passed the thought that the sound of the hollow impact of a trotting horse's hoofs on the road, which each that moment became conscious of hearing was the sound of the advancing foot of Fate? It crossed no mind among the three. There was no reason why it should. And yet at that moment the meaning of the regular, stirring sound was a fateful thing.
He had scarcely spoken before round the curve of the road she came. A finely slender and spiritedly erect girl's figure, upon a satin-skinned bright chestnut with a thoroughbred gait, a smart groom riding behind her. She came towards them, was abreast them, looked at Mount Dunstan, a smiling dimple near her lip as she returned his quick salute.
“Miss Vanderpoel,” he said low to the vicar, “Lady Anstruther's sister.”
Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure.
“Really,” he exclaimed, “Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!”
Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition.
“Miss Vanderpoel,” he burst forth, “Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?”
“Yes,” from Mount Dunstan without fervour. “Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here.”
“Gee,” with feverish regret. “If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made.”
“Should you,” ventured Penzance politely, “endeavour to sell him a typewriter?”