to hear about an old fellow's silly
dreams," he said. "Besides, it was all about the Motor Pirate, and I can
see that Sutgrove for one is quite sick of the subject."

I was, and I wasn't, but I speedily declared that I was not when I saw
that his daughter was bent upon hearing the story. So he started upon a
prosy description as to how the fresh air had sent him to sleep, not
saying a word about the port, and I ceased to listen to him, preferring
to devote the whole of my attention to his daughter, who had seated
herself upon a footstool at his feet, and was looking up into his face
with a pretty affectionate glance in her deep blue eyes, enough to set
any one longing to be the recipient of similar regard. Her form,
attitude, expression, all made so deep an impression upon me, that I
have only to close my eyes at any time to see her just as she was
then--the little witch! She knew full well how to make the most of her
attractions, and though she has often declared since to me that the pose
was quite unpremeditated, I could never quite believe her.

However that may be, I was so fascinated in watching her--there was one
stray curl which lay like a strand of woven gold upon her brow. Confound
it! It's all very well for the fellow who writes fiction for a living to
write about people's emotions. He is cold himself. If he were like me,
and wished to describe his own feelings, he might find himself in the
same difficulty as myself, and give up the attempt.

The Colonel's voice droned on. Suddenly I awoke to the consciousness
that he was speaking of me. I think it was the fact of his daughter
looking at me which recalled me to attention.

"Sutgrove had just looked back to see if I was comfortable, when he saw
another car on the road behind us. We had not long passed through
Radlett. You know the straight stretch of road just past the new Dutch
barn on the left----"

My attention did not wander any more, and you may imagine my
astonishment at hearing the Colonel describe in minute detail everything
which had befallen us upon the previous evening. He could tell a story
when he liked, and on this occasion his description of the shamefaced
manner in which Winter had scrambled out of his car, and had handed over
his valuables to the Motor Pirate, was so ludicrous that I was
compelled to laugh at the description. When my turn came to be
described, Miss Maitland and Mannering were just as much amused, but I
am afraid that my a