'I neither like nor dislike him. I only met him an hour or two ago, and in all probability I shall never see him again.' 'Oh, but you will. You are a friend of Sir Roger Granville's, aren't you?' 'Scarcely. I happen to have been brought into contact with him because of this work I am doing, and he has been very kind to me. That is all. I have never been here before, and probably I shall never come again.' 'Oh, yes, you will. Sir Roger likes you, so does Lady Granville; they said so last night after you went to bed. I am sure you will come here again.' 'I shall be awfully glad if I do, especially if it will lead to my seeing you.' 'Don't be silly,' and she spoke with all the freedom of a child; 'all the same, I'd like you to meet my father. He'd like to know you, too. We only live about five miles away. Ours is a dear old house; it is close by the village of South Petherwin. Can you remember that?' 'If I have to write you about Paul Edgecumbe, will that find you?' 'Yes. You needn't put Bolivick, which is the name of the house, because every one who is called Bolivick lives at Bolivick, don't you see? I shall expect to hear from you directly you find him. You are sure you won't forget?' I laughed at the girl's insistence. 'To make it impossible,' I said, 'I will put it down in my diary. Here we are. May 29,--you see there is a good big space for writing. "I give my promise, that as soon as I have found the man, Paul Edgecumbe, I will write Miss Lorna Bolivick and acquaint her of the fact."' 'That's right. Now then, sign your name.' I laughingly did as she desired. 'I am going to witness it,' she said, and there was quite a serious tone in her voice. She took my pencil, and wrote in a somewhat crude, schoolgirl hand,--'Witnessed by Lorna Bolivick, Bolivick, South Petherwin.' 'You can't get rid of it now,' she said. While she was writing, I happened to look up, and saw Norah Blackwater, who was accompanied by George St. Mabyn and Captain Springfield. 'What deep plot are you engaged in?' asked Norah Blackwater. 'It's only some private business Mr. Luscombe and I are transacting,' she replied, whereupon the others laughed and passed on. 'Do you know what that Captain Springfield makes me think of?' she asked. 'No,' I replied. 'Snakes,' she said. As I watched the captain's retreating form, I shook my head. 'I can't help it. Have you noticed his eyes? There now, put your diary in your pocket, and don't forget what you've promised.' 'One thing is certain,' I said to myself, as I was driven along to the station that afternoon, 'my suspicions about George St. Mabyn are groundless. What a fool a man is when he lets his imagination run away with him! Here was I, building up all sorts of mad theories, and then I meet a man who knows nothing about my thoughts, but who destroys my theories in half a dozen sentences. Whoever Paul Edgecumbe is, it is certain he is not Maurice St. Mabyn.'