"That doesn't seem to concern Dudley at all. He's ashore most of the time." Farr laughed indulgently. "Oh! Dudley's a lazy Southerner. You can't hustle him. He's the salt of the earth, when you have plenty of time; but you can't impress him with the necessity of haste." "When do you go, old man?" Farr took his cigar from between his lips, and watched the cloud of smoke as the breeze bore it far astern. "I don't know exactly," he answered slowly. "Within the next week or ten days surely." "You will be very much missed," said Churchill heartily; "yet I suppose it has been slow work for you." Farr looked contemplatively down at the lighted end of his cigar. "No. I shall be sorry to go." After a slight pause he added: "What has been going on?" "Nothing much. Andrews has gone up to town. Miss Stuart is still at the manor; but, of course, that is no news to you." "I imagined she had not left," returned Farr indifferently. "I am going to call there this afternoon." "Suppose, then, you meet me here; say in a couple of hours," suggested Churchill, as he brought the dingey up to the float, "and go out and dine with me aboard the _Sylph_. I am by myself, for Andrews is away, and Archer is engaged." "Thanks. I will be delighted." Churchill turned to the sailor who stood erect in the boat, awaiting his orders. "At six sharp, Petersen, and tell the steward there will be two for dinner." Then the two men turned on their heels and strode briskly up the sandy road. Presently their paths diverged, and with a friendly nod they separated.