“And Marlotte—by the river. Do you know the picturesque little hotel there, and its al-fresco café—the garden with all the little summer-houses?” “Oh, yes,” she laughed. “Do you know it, too? How gay it is on Sundays in summer. All the artists come out from Paris for the day.” “It reminds me of Monkey Island, on the Thames. We used to go up there when I was at Eton.” She looked at him suddenly with a fixed expression, and then said: “You haven’t told me your name. I only know you as Snookie’s rescuer—you know,” and she laughed. “My name’s Remington—Raife Remington,” he replied. “The guv’nor lives at Aldborough Park, not far from Tunbridge Wells.” Her face changed in an instant. She seemed to suddenly hold her breath, though quite imperceptibly. For a moment all the colour left her soft cheeks, but as quickly she recovered all her self-possession, and exclaimed, in a changed tone: “Is your father Sir Henry Remington?” “Yes. Why? Do you happen to know him?” “I—er—oh, no, I don’t!” she replied, endeavouring to conceal her consternation at the discovery. “Only—well—I—of course, had no idea that you were the son of a gentleman so well-known as Sir Henry.” “My misfortune, perhaps,” he laughed, airily. “The guv’nor has brains—has been a member of Parliament for twenty years, and all that—I haven’t any.” “You have.” “They say I haven’t, at Cambridge.” She was silent for some moments. What strange freak of Fate had thrown them together—he, the very last man on earth she desired to meet. And yet, she had found him such a bright, cheerful companion! Her eyes were turned to where Mutimer and her friend, Maud Wilson, were strolling along the seafront. The young fellow at her side was actually the son of Sir Henry Remington! The baronet’s name burned into her brain—it was branded there, as though seared by a red-hot iron. The amazing revelation staggered her. That man seated so idly in the chair, his legs stretched out, displaying the latest make in ’Varsity socks, was actually the son of Sir Henry!
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