"Perhaps I may, some day. Father and I are going to Scotland for a month from the twelfth of August. After that we shall be in the Savoy Hotel about six weeks. Bring her to see me." Medenham almost jumped when he heard of the projected visit to the Highlands, but some demon of mischief urged him to say: "Let's reckon up. July, August, September--three months----" He stopped with a jerk. Cynthia, already aware of some vague power she possessed of stirring this man's emotions, did not fail to detect his air of restraint. "It isn't a proposition that calls for such a lot of calculation," she said sharply. "Good-night, Mr. Fitzroy. I hope you are punctual morning-time. When there is a date to be kept, I'm a regular alarm clock, my father says." She sped across the road, and into the hotel. Then Medenham noticed how dark it had become--reminded him of the tropics, he thought--and made for his own caravanserai, while his brain was busy with a number of disturbing but nebulous problems that seemed to be pronounced in character yet singularly devoid of a beginning, a middle, or an end. Indeed, so puzzling and contradictory were they that he soon fell asleep. When he rose at seven o'clock next morning the said problems had vanished. They must have been part and parcel with the glamor of a June night, and a starlit sky, and the blue depths of the sea and of a girl's eyes, for the wizard sun had dispelled them long ere he awoke. But he did not telegraph to Simmonds. Dale brought the car to the Grand Hotel in good time, and Medenham ran it some distance along the front before drawing up at the Metropole. By that means he dissipated any undue curiosity that might be experienced by some lounger on the pavement who happened to notice the change of chauffeurs, while he avoided a prolonged scrutiny by the visitors already packed in chairs on both sides of the porch. He kept his face hidden during the luggage strapping process, and professed not to be aware of Cynthia's presence until she bade him a cheery "Good-morning." Of course, Marigny was there, and Mrs. Devar gushed loudly for the benefit of the other people while settling herself comfortably in the tonneau. "It was awfully devey of you, Count Edouard, to enliven our first evening away from town. No such good fortune awaits us in Bournemouth, I am afraid." "If I am to accept that charming reference as applying to myself, I can only say that _my_ good fortune has exhausted itself already, madame," said the Frenchman. "When do you return to London?" "About the end of next week," put in Cynthia. "And your father--that delightful Monsieur Vanrenen," said the Count, breaking into French, "he will join you there?" "Oh, yes. My father and I are seldom separated a whole fortnight." "Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you there. I go to-day to Salisbury--after that, to Hereford and Liverpool." "Why, we shall be in Hereford one day soon. What fun if we met again!"