e had watched him carefully
she had discovered nothing. He had not mentioned his son--a stranger
might have thought that he had not noticed him. But Clare knew him too
well to doubt that he had come to some definite conclusion in the
matter.

She bustled cheerfully about the room, humming a little tune and
talking to him, lightly and with no apparent purpose. He watched the
gulls fly past the open window, his eyes rested on a golden flash of
sun that struck some shining roof in the Cove, but his mind was back in
the early days when he had played his game with the best and had seen
the bright side of the world.

"He was a rake, Jack Crayle"--he seemed scarcely conscious that Clare
was in the room--"a rake but a good heart, and an amusing fellow too.
I remember meeting old Rendle and Hawdon Sallust--Hawdon of the
eighties, you know--not the old man--he kept at home--all three of them
at White's, Rendle and Sallust and Crayle; Jack bet Rendle he wouldn't
stop the next man he met in the street and claim him as an old friend
and bring him in--and, by Jove, he took it and brought him in,
too--sort of tramp chap he was, too--dirty, untidy fellow--but Rendle
was game serious--by Gad, he was. Said he was an old friend that had
fallen on evil times--gave him a drink and won the bet--'63 that
was--the year Bailey won that polo match against old Tom Radley--all
the town was talking of it. By Gad, he could ride, Bailey could.
Why----"

"It's time for your medicine, father," said Clare, breaking ruthlessly
in upon the reminiscences.

"Eh, dear, yes," he said, looking at her curiously. "You're never
late, Clare, always up to time. Yes, yes, well, well; in '63 that was.
I remember it like yesterday--old Tom--particular friend he was of mine
then, although we broke afterwards--my fault too, probably, about a
horse it was. I----"

But Clare gave him his medicine, first tying a napkin round his neck
lest she should spill the drops. He looked at her, smiling, over the
napkin.

"You were always a girl for method," he said again; "not like Harry."

She looked at him quickly, but could guess nothing; she was suddenly
frightened, as she so often was when he laughed like that. She always
expected that some announcement would follow. It was almost as if he
had threatened her.

"Harry?" she said. "No. But he is very like he used to be in some
ways. It is nice to have him back again--but--well, he will find
Pendragon rath