“I show you this lovely face, all aglow with youth and the joy of life,” he cried, “and all that seems to interest you is that some foul vandal, whose neck I should like to wring, has splashed his beastly dinner over it. Heavens, man, look at that girl! Have you ever seen such a girl?” “She’s not bad.” “Not bad! Can’t you see she’s simply marvellous?” The photograph did, indeed, to a great extent justify Sam’s enthusiasm. It represented a girl in hunting costume, standing beside her horse. She was a trim, boyish-looking girl of about eighteen, slightly above the medium height; and she gazed out of the picture with clear, grave, steady eyes. At the corner of her mouth there was a little thoughtful droop. It was a pretty mouth; but Sam, who had made a study of the picture and considered himself the world’s leading authority upon it, was of opinion that it would look even prettier when smiling. Under the photograph, in leaded capitals, ran the words: A FAIR DAUGHTER OF NIMROD. Beneath this poetical caption, it is to be presumed, there had originally been more definite information as to the subject’s identity, but the coarse hand which had wrenched the page from its setting had unfortunately happened to tear off the remainder of the letterpress. “Simply marvellous,” said Sam emotionally. “What’s that thing of Tennyson’s about a little English rosebud, she?” “Tennyson? There was a feller when I was on the _Sea Bird_, called Pennyman----” “Oh, shut up! Isn’t she a wonder, Hash! And what is more--fair, wouldn’t you say?” Hash scratched his chin. He was a man who liked to think things over. “Or dark,” he said. “Idiot! Don’t tell me those eyes aren’t blue.” “Might be,” admitted Hash grudgingly. “And that hair would be golden, or possibly a very light brown.” “How’m I to know?” “Hash,” said Sam, “the very first thing I do when I get to England is to find out who that girl is.” “Easy enough.” Hash pointed the stem of his pipe at the caption. “Daughter of Nimrod. All you got to do is get a telephone directory and look him up. It’ll give the address as well.” “How do you think of these things?” said Sam admiringly. “The only trouble is, suppose old man Nimrod lives in the country. He sounds like a hunting man.” “Ah!” said Hash. “There’s that, o’ course.” “No, my best scheme will be to find out what paper this is torn out of, and then search back through the files for the picture.” “Maybe,” said Hash. He had plainly lost interest in the subject. Sam was gazing dreamily at the picture. “Do you see that little dimple just by the chin, Hash? My goodness, I’d give something to see that girl smile!” He replaced the paper in his note-case and sighed. “Love is a wonderful thing, Hash.” Mr. Todhunter’s ample mouth curled sardonically. “When you’ve seen as much of life as I have,” he replied, “you’d rather have a cup of tea.” CHAPTER TWO KAY OF VALLEY FIELDS