Текст книги "The Return of the Gypsy"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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“But he was an epileptic, wasn’t he?” asked Claudine.

“Well, he had been in his youth,” replied David. “But that has not prevented his being the most outstanding man in Europe. Whatever you think of him, you have to admit that.”

“We’ll find his match,” said my father. “I’d like to hear what the Duke is doing about this.”

“It is a blessing that he remained close at hand,” added David.

“Yes,” agreed my father. “That idiot Liverpool wanted to send him to America. Thank God the Duke refused to go. Perhaps he saw something like this coming. In any case he did not want to move far away while Napoleon was alive even though he was in exile.”

“What will happen now?” asked Amaryllis.

Her husband smiled at her. “For that, my dear, we have to wait and see.”

We did not have to wait long. Wellington took command of the army and left for Belgium at the beginning of April. Napoleon was going from strength to strength. He was proclaimed Liberator of France. Louis had fled to Ghent and in the streets of Paris people were dancing in transports of joy.

The conquering hero had returned to them.

Each day we awoke to a feeling of expectancy mingled with dread. He had been so victorious in the past. He was back. He was a legend and legends are hard to defeat. But we had a mighty Duke and he was such another hero to us. Defeat seemed as impossible for him as the French saw it for Napoleon.

The Duke was in Flanders where he would join up with Blucher and our Prussian allies. Feelings ran high. “This time,” said the people, “we are going to see the end of Old Boney for all time.”

Through May this mood continued. Napoleon, brilliant general that he was, was doing everything he could to prevent the union of Wellington and Blucher.

June had come—hot, uneasy days. Napoleon had defeated the Prussians at Ligny and that news was received with great gloom which lifted considerably when we heard that the Prussian army had managed to escape.

Wellington was at the village of Waterloo where, said my father, he could keep an eye on Brussels while he awaited the arrival of Blucher’s army.

We knew how important this battle was. It was going to decide the fate of Europe. On it rested Napoleon’s Empire and our own future well-being and safety.

The French had Napoleon but we must never forget, my father told us, that we had Wellington.

And so to the great battle which will never be forgotten in our history.

Forever I shall remember the day when news came of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo, bringing with it the knowledge that Napoleon had been defeated for ever. From now on we should be able to sleep peacefully in our beds at night.

What days they were following that historic battle. There was rejoicing everywhere. Bonfires, dancing in the streets … Waterloo! It was a word which was written in glittering letters on our country’s history and the man who had made that victory possible was everybody’s hero. I thought of how people had dragged his carriage from Westminster Bridge to Hamilton Place. That would be nothing compared with the welcome he would receive now.

He was the mighty Duke, England’s great son, the saviour of the world who had freed Europe from the tyrants. His praises were sung in stately mansions and in cottages; men fought out the battle on their table cloths after dinner and we were no exception. How many times had I seen the pepper and salt and cutlery laid out on a table Waterloo. “Here is Napoleon… Here is Wellington. Napoleon wanted to finish off the English before the arrival of Blucher. Wellington’s idea was to hold the ground … here … until they came. And hold the ground they did against all attacks. Now in the afternoon the Prussians were sighted. Here they are approaching. It is the end for Napoleon. He knows it. Ney knows it. They’re beaten. Napoleon flees to Paris. He’s finished. The end of a dream …”

Never, never must he be allowed to come back. That must be the end of Napoleon. The wars he had created were over.

“Long live Peace,” was the universal cry. “Glory to the Victor. Blessings on the great Duke!”

This was a wonderful day for England.

The entire country was rejoicing. Celebration balls were given. There was one at Eversleigh to which the whole neighbourhood and friends from farther afield were invited.

Napoleon had tried to escape from France, but finding this impossible had surrendered to Captain Maitland of the Bellerophon at Rochefort about a month after his defeat at Waterloo. He must be given no opportunities to escape again; and this time he was banished to St. Helena.

This must be the end of him.

And so the celebrations continued. Later people would be counting the enormous cost of the war and complaining about the taxes that had had to be imposed to pay for it. While the war was in progress these had been accepted; it was only when it was over that voices would be raised in protest.

But in the meantime there was little thought beyond the euphoria of victory, and everyone was determined to make the most of it.

We went to London where we received invitations to the Inskips’ ball.

The Inskips were associates of my father, and Lord Inskip was a very important and influential gentleman. This would be one of the most splendid balls of that season of rejoicing.

We needed very special ball gowns for the occasion and my mother said they could not be trusted to our seamstresses. We must go to the Court dressmakers and give ourselves a little time beforehand, because naturally on such an occasion we must be suitably garbed.

Amaryllis was not with us in London, being in no condition to travel and therefore Claudine preferred to stay at home with her. David naturally did not come. He, after all, had not been concerned in the London side of my father’s involvements. So it was just Jonathan, my parents and myself.

My mother and I had a busy time shopping and attending the dressmakers. I had never had such a dress. It was of flame-coloured chiffon, narrow at the waist and a skirt which billowed out in flounce after flounce. It was slightly off my shoulders and my mother said I should wear my hair dressed high with a gold ornament in it. About my neck I was to wear a gold necklace and there were to be gold earrings in my ears.

My mother’s maid spent hours with us both, dressing our hair and making sure that our gowns set as they should and we wore the right accessories.

My mother was beautiful in her favourite shade of peacock blue. Jonathan was his jaunty self and my father looked distinguished and handsome, but I noticed how white his hair had become and that gave me a tremor of alarm. Even he could not live forever, I thought uneasily.

However, those were not reflections for such a day.

We set out in the carriage for the Inskips’ mansion which was close to the Park. There Lord and Lady Inskip received us most graciously and as we mingled with the glittering guests our magnificent dresses seemed suddenly to become commonplace among that throng.

Dancing was in progress in the ballroom and I danced with Jonathan. My mother and father danced together. When it was over a young man approached. He knew Jonathan who introduced us and he and I went into the next dance.

There followed the cotillion and the quadrille. Conversation was light and meaningless as it is on these occasions for one cannot very well talk of anything of moment when one is being whirled round the ballroom.

It was when the quadrille was over that I looked up suddenly and saw a man coming towards me. There was something familiar about him. He was very tall and so lean that he looked even taller than he actually was; his hair was dark, his eyes a lively brown; and there was something in his face which suggested that he found life very amusing—in fact something of a joke. I wondered vaguely why I should notice so much in such a short time. It might have been because I had seen it all before.

I must have stared at him, showing some interest.

“I believe,” he said, “that we have met before.”

He stood before me, smiling. “You don’t remember me evidently.”

“I … am not sure.”

“Perhaps it is a long time ago. Would you care to dance?”

“Yes,” I replied.

He took my hands and excitement gripped me. He was very like … He couldn’t be, of course. That would be impossible.

“When I caught sight of you,” he said, “I was taken back … years ago. I thought we had met before.”

“I had the same feeling. Do you live in London?”

“I have a place here … a small house. My home is in Cornwall.”

“I don’t think we can possibly have met before. But you are so like someone I knew once … when I was a child … briefly. He was … a gypsy.”

I saw his mouth twitch. “Don’t be afraid to tell me. He was a wicked character, was he? Someone it was not right that a well-brought-up young lady should know? And I resemble him?”

“Well, in a way you do. But there is a difference.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Nine years.”

“You remember so promptly.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Tell me how different I am from him?”

“Your skin is more brown.”

“That’s the Australian sun.”

My heart began to beat very fast. “You have been in Australia?”

“As a matter of fact I have but recently returned. I have been in England some six months. You have changed … more than I have. After all you were only a little girl. I was at least grown up. But nine years can do something to a man, especially when they are nine such as I have had.”

“You can’t be …”

“Yes, I am.”

“What a strange coincidence.”

“We should have met sooner or later. I was planning to come down your way to see what had happened after all those years.”

“Are you really Romany Jake?”

“I confess I am.”

“They sent you away …”

“For seven years.”

“And now you are free.”

He nodded. “There is one thing I never forget,” he said. “I should not be here but for a certain young lady.”

“You know that I didn’t betray you then?”

“I never thought that you did. Well, perhaps for just a little while when I came out of that house and they were there with you.”

“I suffered agonies. Then I made my father help you.”

“It would have been the end of me if you hadn’t.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I was when I knew your life was spared. There is so much I want to know. It is difficult to talk here.”

“There is a garden. We’ll slip away and find a corner down there where it is quieter. I have much to tell you.”

He took my hand and we went out of the ballroom and down the stairs. The Inskip garden faced the Park and beyond the wall it stretched out before us—the trees reaching out to the midnight blue sky, the stars shining there and the light of a crescent moon turning the Serpentine to silver. It was a perfect night but I was hardly aware of it. I was not aware of anything much but the man at my side.

There were one or two couples there who had sought the quiet of the garden, but they were well away from us.

We sat down together.

“I can’t believe you are Romany Jake,” I said.

“That is well in the past.”

“Tell me …”

“Let me tell you how Romany Jake managed to get an invitation to such an exclusive ball. I am a man of substance now. Sir Jake Cadorson. Jake to his friends. The Romany no longer applies.”

“But the last time I heard of you you were on a convict ship going out to Australia.”

“Seven years’ transportation. Those seven years were up two years ago. I am a free man.”

“So you came back to England.”

“At first I did not intend to. I was put into the service of a grazier in New South Wales some miles north of Sydney. He wasn’t a bad fellow. He was just and fair if one worked well. I was glad to work. There was so much to forget. So I worked and I was soon in favour with him. When my years of servitude were up he gave me a patch of land. I was going into wool myself, and I did for a year, I didn’t do too badly. It is easier in a new country. All one has to contend with is the elements, the plagues of this and that and other blessings of nature. It can be pretty grim, I can tell you; but there was a challenge in it and it appealed to me.”

“But you decided not to stay?”

He looked at me intently. “Life is strange,” he said. “You know I left home to wander with the gypsies. I never got on with my brother. He was considerably older than I, and very serious … without imagination. But that’s my side of the question. When I went he was glad to be rid of me and washed his hands of me. The family estates are in South Cornwall. Well, my brother died and then everything, including the title, has come to me. You see I have come a long way from the gypsy and felon I was when you last knew me.”

“I am so glad It has turned out very well for you.”

“And you?”

“I married.”

There was a brief silence and then he said: “I suppose that was inevitable. Is your husband here tonight?”

“No. I am here with my parents.”

Again that silence.

“My husband is an invalid,” I said slowly. “He was injured during the Luddite riots.”

“I’m … sorry.”

His manner had changed.

I said coolly: “I think I ought to tell you that you have a daughter.”

He stared at me.

“Dolly … of course,” he said. “Poor Dolly.”

“Poor Dolly indeed. She died giving birth to your child.”

“What?”

“Of course you wouldn’t remember anything about it. You had your little … frolic. Do you remember the bonfire? Trafalgar Day? Your daughter in fact lives with me now.”

“But this is incredible.”

“Of course you had forgotten. It is amazing, is it not? These things seem so trivial to some who partake in them, but they can have devastating results, and one of the partners is left to deal with them.”

“A daughter, you say?”

“Her name is Tamarisk. She is a rather wild, rebellious girl, as perhaps might have been expected.”

“You are hostile suddenly. A few moments ago …”

“Hostile? Indeed not. I was just stating the facts. When Dolly discovered she was to have a child, her grandmother was so upset she died.”

“Died! Because her granddaughter was going to have a child?”

“Some people care about these things. She had a similar trouble with another granddaughter. She just seemed to give up. She went out one cold winter’s night to consult someone and she almost froze to death. Dolly was taken under the wing of my Aunt Sophie and she died when the child was born. My aunt brought up the child who showed her gratitude by running away with the gypsies. You remember Leah.”

“Leah? Certainly I remember Leah.”

“It was because of Leah that you almost lost your life.”

“One does not forget such things. Poor Dolly… and the child.”

“She came back to us. She had tired of the gypsy way of life. She wanted her warm bed, the comforts of that other life she had experienced. But when she returned my aunt had died of a broken heart. You see what a trail of havoc one little frolic round a bonfire can bring?”

He closed his eyes and suddenly I felt sorry for him. He must have suffered a great deal.

I said more gently: “Well, now Tamarisk is with us. I don’t think she will want to go wandering again.”

“I must see the child,” he said.

“She is at Grasslands. Do you remember Grasslands? It was Dolly’s home.”

“The house in which I was hiding when they took me?”

“Yes,” I said. It was all coming back to me so vividly—that moment when he had opened the door and I had suddenly become aware that I was not alone, and that he would think I had betrayed him.

“I live at Grasslands now,” I went on. “It is my home. It was bought by my husband’s family before he was injured.”

“So much happens as the years pass,” he said. “I must see the child. I wonder what she will think of me. Perhaps I should take her back to Cornwall with me.”

“She will be excited to know she has a father.”

He was silent for a while. Then he said: “Forgive me. I am overwhelmed. I feel that sitting here I have lived through years. I have been thinking ever since I came back to England that I must come and look for you. How foolish one is! I let myself believe that I should find you just as I left you … a young girl… nine years ago … as if nothing would change.”

“And you? You married?”

He shook his head. “I always knew I should come back to England.”

We heard a distant bell ringing through the house.

“I think that means they are serving supper,” I said.

The other people left the garden and we were alone.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said. “I can’t tell you how often I dreamed of coming home when I was away.”

“I suppose one would.”

He stood up and taking my hand drew me up to stand beside him.

“I used to say to myself, I’ll go back. I’ll ride through the country. I’ll visit the places we used to see when we trundled through in our caravans. I’ll go down to Eversleigh. I remembered it well. That cosy corner of England. Isn’t it called the Garden of England?”

“Yes, because of the apples and cherries and plums that grow there better than anywhere else in the country.”

“Eversleigh … Grasslands and the young girl with the dark expressive eyes who had a spirit like mine and would fight for what she believed was right. Do you know, I thought you were the most enchanting little girl I had ever seen.”

“And Dolly?” I could not resist saying.

“She was a tragic little thing. Life had been unkind to her.”

“You mean people, don’t you?”

“I was thoughtless … careless …”

“You betrayed her.”

“I betrayed myself.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I thought nothing of it. We were dancing round the bonfire. Dolly was eager to be loved … even fleetingly.”

“Oh I see. Just worthy of your attention for a very short time.”

“It wasn’t like that, you know.”

“But you honoured her briefly with a little of your attention.”

“You are angry suddenly.”

“I hate this attitude towards women, as though they are here to pander to the temporary needs of men, little playthings to be picked up, amusing for a while, and then cast aside.”

“You are talking in well worn clichés.”

“Clichés come about because they are a neat way of stating a truth.”

“I have never before heard them so described and I repeat that it was not like that with Dolly. She was not forced, you know.”

“I think we should go to supper,” I said.

He took my arm and pressed it.

“This has been a most exciting evening. Meeting you … like this. I meant to come to see you within a few days. This is the first opportunity I have had of getting to London. My brother was an old friend of Lord Inskip so naturally I, the heir, was invited to the ball.”

“Do they know that you served several years … as a convict?”

“In Australia, yes. It doesn’t count. People are sent to Australia for their politics. There is not the same smear as serving a term of imprisonment here. I shall not attempt to hide my past, I assure you. People must take me as they find me.”

I had turned away and we went into the supper room. My emotions were in a whirl. I had been so taken off my guard. It had taken me some time before I could believe that he had come back.

For some reason I did not want to see him again. He disturbed me. I realized that over the last nine years I had thought about him quite often. He had intruded into my thoughts and now that he was back he seemed more disturbing than ever.

I saw my parents seated at one of the tables and leaving him I hurriedly joined them.

My mother said: “What a distinguished looking man you came in with. Had you been in the garden?”

“Yes. It was rather hot in the ballroom.”

“Who is he?”

“Sir Jake Somebody.”

“Your father said he thought he knew him but couldn’t quite place him.”

I was not surprised.

The salmon was delicious; so were the meat patties; there was champagne in plenty. I ate and drank without tasting. I could not forget him.

I saw him across the supper room. He was seated at the Inskips’ table, talking vivaciously and there seemed to be a good deal of merriment around him.

He caught my eye across the room and smiled.

“He is very attractive,” said my mother, following my gaze. “He seems to have his eyes on you.”

“I daresay he has his eyes on quite a number of people.”

“Was he flirtatious?” asked my mother. “He looks as if he might be something of an adventurer.”

“Hardly that.”

“But interesting.”

“Oh yes, very interesting.”

She sighed and I knew she was once more wishing that I had not hurried into marriage.

After supper he asked me to dance. I rose, trying to assume an air of reluctance which I was far from feeling.

“It is good of you to do me the honour,” he said.

We joined the dancers.

“I must come down and see my daughter.”

“Perhaps it would be better if she were brought to London.”

“Would you bring her?”

“Perhaps my mother would. Or her governess. Leah is with us.”

“Leah!”

“When she returned from her sojourn with the gypsies she brought Leah with her. Leah has stayed with us ever since.”

“Leah …” he said softly and I felt a ridiculous stab of jealousy. That should have been warning enough in itself. I was a staid married woman; he was a one-time gypsy, a convict, a seducer of an innocent girl, and he had killed a man. Why should I feel jealous of Leah? Why should I feel so emotional to be near him? Why should this ball be the most exciting one I had ever attended?

Because of him? Oh yes, I should have recognized the warning signals.

“I would rather you brought her,” he said.

“I should have to consider it. I do not care to leave my husband too frequently.”

“And he is too ill to travel?”

“Yes.”

I thought of Jake at Grasslands, a guest in our house. That would be very disturbing. It was such an extraordinary situation. I imagined myself explaining to Tamarisk: “You have a father. He has just appeared. Here he is.” And Edward? What would Edward think of this man? He was very perceptive, and where I was concerned particularly so. He was always conscious of the sacrifice I had made in marrying him. Constantly he said that I should never have done it and as constantly I tried to show him a hundred reasons why I should. I loved Edward. I loved him more than I had when I married him. My admiration for him had grown. I was resigned to my life with him and never until this night had I realized how much I gave up to marry him.

Briefly I imagined myself free. Suppose I had not married Edward and tonight I had met Jake … we should have been together after all those years.

I felt angry with life, with myself, with this man who had come back almost casually into my life and talked so lightly of his relationship with poor Dolly. But I was forcing myself to see him in a certain light. I remembered Dolly as she had looked dancing round the bonfire, sitting at the kitchen table in Grasslands while he sang and played on his guitar. Dolly had adored him. Dolly had loved him. Dolly had wanted that moment of passion between them. It was the only time she had felt herself to be loved … well, desired. And that had resulted in Tamarisk. Dolly had wanted the child. Flashes of memory came back to me. I remembered how she had talked of her child. Dolly had regretted nothing … so why should he?

At least he had brought colour into her life, a joy which she had never before known, and if it had not meant so much to him as it had to her, he was not to blame.

“How long have you been married?” he asked.

“It is nearly two years.”

“So if I had come back …”

He stopped. I knew what he meant. If he had come back earlier he might have been able to prevent my marriage.

It was a confession. He must feel as drawn to me as I did to him. The thought made me blissfully happy … for a moment. Then I realized how absurd this was. I had never thought to see this man again. When I had known him I had been a child with a child’s emotions. Why should I feel this exhilaration one moment, this despair the next… just because he had come back into my life.

I said to him: “I was engaged to him. He was injured … badly … in his factory. I could not break my promise to marry him.” I hesitated. “Nor did I want to,” I added almost defiantly. “He is a good man … a very good man.”

“I understand. And may I come to Grasslands to see my daughter?”

“Yes, of course.”

He came close to me as we danced. “You have not changed very much,” he said. “I believe you would do again all those wonderful things you did then … for me.”

“I was sorry for you. You had done nothing criminal. You saved Leah.”

“Perhaps you will again take pity on me.”

I laughed as lightly as I could: “I doubt you are in need of that now, Sir Jake.”

“I may well be. And then you will be … just as you were all those years ago.”

The dance was over. My mother was sitting with Lady Inskip and he returned me to her, bowed and was introduced by Lady Inskip. My mother expressed her pleasure in meeting him and after a few words he departed.

“Charming man,” said Lady Inskip. “His brother was a good friend of mine. He has come into quite a large estate and I hope to be seeing a good deal of him if he can tear himself away from Cornwall. Yes, very large estates there and a nice little house in London just off Park Lane. John Cadorson did not use it a great deal.”

“I thought I had met him before,” said my mother.

“He is very attractive. I shall take him under my wing. I can see he will be a prey to all the rapacious mamas in London. He’s had a very romantic past, too, and he makes no secret of it. Why should he? It was to his credit really. He killed a man who was trying to assault a young girl. They tried to bring in murder. That was absurd. He was sent to Australia for seven years.”

“Oh,” said my mother blankly. “I am beginning to understand.”

“There was quite a stir at the time in Nottingham or somewhere like that. Jake went off and did the seven years and now he is back … one of the biggest catches in Town.”

My mother looked at me anxiously. Perhaps she noticed the shine in my eyes.

When we arrived home she came to my room for one of those talks of which she was so fond and made a habit.

She came straight to the point.

“Do you realize who that man was?”

“Yes. Romany Jake.”

“That’s right. I was trying to think of his name. You danced with him quite a lot.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did he talk about the past?”

“Yes. Quite freely. As a matter of fact I told him about Tamarisk.”

“Good heavens, yes. Of course he’s her father … if Dolly was telling the truth.”

“Dolly would not have lied. He is the father. I can see something of him in her.”

“What a situation. Who would have believed it?”

“He’s making no secret of his past. Lady Inskip mentioned it, didn’t she?”

“Oh, it adds a sort of glamour. The man who lived as a gypsy, killed a man to save a woman’s honour and served seven years in a penal settlement because of it. Lady Inskip is right. It’s so romantic—particularly when there’s a fortune and a title to go with it.”

“Yes,” I said. “He will be much sought after. He will have a wide choice.”

“He seems to have a very pleasant manner. Not much of the wandering gypsy there tonight.”

“I thought he was very much the same.”

“You had a long session with him, of course. Oh, here’s your father. He must have guessed where I am. Hello, Dickon. You were right. We were gossiping again.”

“I’m always glad when these affairs are over,” he said, sitting down in my easy chair. “You were the two most beautiful women at the ball.”

“Isn’t he a good faithful old husband and father?” said my mother. “There were more glittering figures than we were.”

“I wasn’t talking about glitter. I was talking about beauty.”

“Dickon, did you see who was there?”

“Half of fashionable London, I imagine.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“I had eyes only for my beautiful wife and daughter.”

“Dickon, you are really old enough now not to be so maudlin.”

“You ungrateful creature!”

“What I meant was did you see the young man who was dancing with Jessica quite a lot?”

“Dark fellow.”

“That’s right. Did you notice anything about him?”

“Good looking, well set-up sort of fellow.”

“Dickon, you are so unobservant. He’s a figure from the past. Do you remember Romany Jake?”

“God bless my soul! Well, yes … I can’t believe it.”

“It’s true,” I said. “He made himself known to me.”

“Lady Inskip told us,” said my mother. “They are making no secret of it.”

“What was he doing at a ball like that?”

“Invited,” I replied. “And he was an honoured guest.”

“Introduced to me by Lady Inskip herself,” put in my mother.

“He’s inherited a fortune and a title. That’s why he has come home from Australia. His estate is in Cornwall but he has a house in London.”

“You certainly found out all the details.”

“Isn’t it a romantic story?” said my mother.

“He’s a romantic sort of fellow.”

“He’s coming to Grasslands,” I said.

They both looked rather startled.

“He has a right to see his own daughter.”

“Tamarisk, of course,” said my mother.

“Best thing to do would have been to keep quiet about that,” added my father.

“He doesn’t seem to want to keep quiet. He wants to see his daughter.”

“So he’ll be staying at Grasslands?” said my mother. “Would you prefer us to have him at Eversleigh?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Oh,” said my mother quickly. “I thought you might have preferred it.”

“Tamarisk is at Grasslands. He would want to be where she is.”

“Quite so,” said my father.

“I hope people are not going to harp on about his sentence,” I said.

“What does it matter? He’s served his term. It’s over.”

“He has a daughter,” my mother reminded him.

“Lots of men have daughters.”

“Illegitimate ones?” asked my mother.

“Scores of them!” he retorted. “Let him come. He might even take her off your hands, Jessica. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” He yawned. “Come on. I’m not so fond of these late nights as I used to be. Goodnight, daughter. Sleep well.”

My mother kissed me tenderly. I had a notion that she was aware of the effect Romany Jake had had upon me.

The next morning he called at the house and asked for me. I received him in the drawing room, pleased that he had come and yet uncertain of myself.

“Good morning,” he said, taking both my hands and smiling at me. “I hope you will forgive such an early call. We left each other last night without making arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” I repeated.

“You kindly said I might visit you at Grasslands to see my daughter.”

“Yes, of course. I think I had better consult my mother. When would it be convenient for you?”

“As soon as possible. I feel that having suddenly learned that I possess a daughter I should lose no time in making her acquaintance. I was going to ask you if you would care to take luncheon with me. I know one or two very good inns hereabouts.”