“I say,” he began, staring hard into her face, “aren’t you--er--Caroline--Blagdon?” She stood stock still, and surveyed him with startled eyes, and a heightened colour. Could this heavy, elderly man, with a large, reddish face, be her father? Why Kaspar at the landing-stage looked more distinguished. Of course his clothes and voice were all right--but---- She nodded curtly. “I got your letters,” he resumed, “and as I was in Germany motoring, I thought I’d come on here and look you up. Seeing is believing. I’m your father, you know.” “Yes--are you?” “I say, let’s walk about a bit, where we can talk. Where’s your mother? I bar meeting her.” “She has gone across the bridge to say good-bye to some friends; we are leaving next week. She won’t be back for an hour. I’m to meet her at the five o’clock boat.” “Oh, so then we have a clear hour! Come along to the National.” For a perceptible pause Cara’s hesitation was obvious: she neither spoke nor stirred--and her reluctance enormously enhanced her value in her father’s eyes.--However, as she said to herself, she might as well hear, what he had to propose--no harm--in that! As they strolled together past the shops, Blagdon was gratified to note how many eyes were bent on his companion. This was the sort of girl that appealed to him; she was well turned out, too, and walked as if the whole earth belonged to her. “Lived here always?” he asked abruptly. “Yes, since I was four. Now I’m seventeen.” “And look every day of twenty or more,” he exclaimed with habitual brusquerie. “Do I? And you,” considering him with cold, undaunted eyes, “I suppose are sixty--or more?” Blagdon’s face assumed a deeper hue. His neck appeared to swell, an apoplectic seizure seemed imminent; he was not accustomed to be thus bearded. However, for once, with a violent effort, he restrained himself, and answered: “A fellow’s the age he feels--a woman the age she looks.” “That’s rubbish!” declared his bold companion, “and was certainly invented by a _man_!” “I say, young lady, you seem to have a fairly sharp tongue!” “A sharp tongue and a sweet temper,” she retorted. It was evident to her electrified and humbled parent, that the girl did not care a brass farthing whether he reinstated her or not! The saucy young woman was entirely independent, and made no secret of her attitude. The chances were, that if she had been appealing, eager, and slavish, he would not have been so anxious to claim her--but Cara had taken her father’s measure, with a very sure eye. “Well, here we are,” he continued, leading the way up the steps; “come into the lounge, and let’s get to know one another. I saw you and your mother together just now--you seem to be tremendous pals.” “So we are,” said Cara, as she threw herself carelessly into a comfortable chair. “My mother has been awfully good to me.” “Eh? Well, at any rate, she ran away with you, and now,” coming and standing directly before her, “what do you say to giving _me_ a turn?”