"I suppose you do." T. B., from his hiding-place, bestowed an admiring grin upon the patronage in the baronet's tone. "When did you meet him first?"
"Three weeks ago." She spoke with a catch in her voice that affected T. B. strangely.
"That girl is acting," he thought. "But why----?"
"Three weeks?" mused the banker. "Um--when did you discover he was a relative of mine?"
"A few days since," she said eagerly. "I was in Cornwall, visiting some friends----"
"Cornwall!" T. B. had hard work to suppress an exclamation.
"----and I learnt from them that you were related. I did not know of any other relation. My friends told me it would be wicked to marry without the knowledge of his people. 'Go to Sir George Calliper and explain,' they said; 'he will help you'; instead of which----"
"Instead of which I pointed out how impossible it was, eh? and persuaded you to give up all idea of marrying Carleby. Yes, I suppose you think I am a heartless brute."
"You will give him my message?" she asked suddenly.
[Illustration: "You will give him my message?"]
("That clears the banker," thought T. B.)
"I shall leave for Spain to-morrow. It was good of you to let me have this talk."
"Somehow," she said drearily, "I cannot help feeling that it is for the best."
Again T. B. thought he detected a note of insincerity.
T. B. was alert now; he saw in a flash the significance of this interview; saw the plot which had lured a foolish relative of Calliper's to a love affair; and now, the manoeuvring to the crucial moment of the interview which she had so cleverly planned.
He shook his head. "That is the day of all days I am not likely to leave London."
"Why?" she asked innocently, her eyes wide open and her lips parted.
"I have some very important business to transact on that day," he said briefly.
"Oh, I forgot," she said, with a hint of awe in her voice. "You're a great banker, aren't you?" she smiled. "Oh, yes, Carleby told me----"
"I thought you didn't know about me until your Cornish friends told you?" he asked.
"Not that you were related to him," she rejoined quickly, "but he spoke of the great house of Bronte----"
"So Thursday will be the day," she mused.
"What day?" The banker's voice was sharp.
"The day you will see Carleby," she said, with a look of surprise.