"I think not," said Rockingham.
"Why so?"
"Because of something that fellow Eustick was saying yesterday."
"The surly Thomas Eustick?
What had he to say?" said Dona.
"Only that a fishing craft from St. Michael's Mount had reported seeing a vessel in the early hours of yesterday morning, making towards the English coast."
"Slender evidence. Some merchantman returning from abroad."
"The fisherman thought not."
"The coast of England goes a long way, my dear Rockingham.
From the Land's End to the Wight is a precious stretch to watch."
"Yes, but the Frenchman leaves the Wight alone.
It seems he leaves everything alone, but for this narrow strip of Cornwall.
Rashleigh will have it that he has even visited your Helford river here."
"He must do it by night then, when I am in bed and asleep."
"Possibly he does.
At any rate, he will not dare to do it much longer.
It will be vastly amusing to stop his little game.
I suppose there are many creeks and inlets round your coast here?"
"No doubt.
Harry could tell you better than I."
"And the country hereabouts is sparsely inhabited.
Navron is the only big house in the district I understand."
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"How ideal for a law-breaker.
I almost wish I were a pirate myself.
And if I knew the house was without masculine protection, and that the lady of the manor was as beautiful as you, Dona…"
"Yes, Rockingham?"
"If I were a pirate, I repeat, knowing all these things, I should be most tempted to return to the district again and again."
Dona yawned once more, and threw away the mutilated daisy.
"But you are not a pirate, my dear Rockingham, you are only a grossly spoilt, overdressed, exceedingly decadent member of the aristocracy, with too great a fondness for women and for alcohol.
So shall we leave the subject alone?
I am becoming rather bored."
She got up from her seat, and began to wander towards the house.
"Time was," he said casually, "when you were not bored either by me or by my conversation."
"You flatter yourself."
"Do you remember a certain evening at Vauxhall?"
"I remember many evenings at Vauxhall, and one in particular, when because I had drunk two glasses of wine and was feeling intolerably sleepy, you had the audacity to kiss me and I was too idle to protest.
I disliked you ever afterwards, and myself more so."
They stopped at the long window, and he gazed at her, a flush on his face.
"What a delightful speech," he said.
"The Cornish air has made you almost venomous.
Or possibly it is the result of the fever."
"Possibly it is."
"Were you as churlish as this to the curious-looking manservant who attended you?"
"You had better ask him."
"I think I shall.
If I were Harry I should ask him many questions, and all of an extremely personal nature."
"Who's this, what's this all about?" and Harry himself joined them, flinging himself down in a chair in the salon, wiping his forehead with a lace handkerchief. "What are you discussing, both of you?"
"We were discussing your manservant," said Rockingham, with a brilliant smile, "so strange that Dona would permit no one else to attend her while she was ill."
"Yes, by heaven, he's a rum-looking devil, and no mistake. Wouldn't trust him too far, if I were you, Dona.