Chayne spoke with some natural hesitation, but Garratt Skinner was not in the least offended.

“I will not pretend to misunderstand you,” he replied.  “Indeed, I like your frankness.  Please take what I say in the same spirit.  I cannot give you any help, Captain Chayne.”

“Why?”

Garratt Skinner raised himself upon his elbow, and fixing his eyes upon his companion’s face, said distinctly and significantly: 

“Because Sylvia has her work to do here.”

Chayne in his turn made no pretence to misunderstand.  He was being told clearly that Sylvia was in league with her father and Captain Barstow to pluck Walter Hine.  But he was anxious to discover how far Garratt Skinner’s cynicism would carry him.

“Will you define the work?” he asked.

“If you wish it,” replied Garratt Skinner, falling back in his hammock.  “I should have thought it unnecessary myself.  The work is the reclaiming of Wallie Hine from the very undesirable company in which he has mixed.  Do you understand?”

“Quite,” said Chayne.  He understood very well.  He had been told first the real design—­to pluck Walter Hine—­and then the excuse which was to cloak it.  He understood, too, the reason why this information had been given to him with so cynical a frankness.  He, Chayne, was in the way.  Declare the swindle and persuade him that Sylvia was a party to it—­what more likely way could be discovered for getting rid of Captain Chayne?  He looked at his smiling companion, took note of his strong aquiline face, his clear and steady eyes.  He recognized a redoubtable antagonist, but he leaned forward and said with a quiet emphasis: 

“Mr. Skinner, I have, nevertheless, not lost heart.”

Garratt Skinner laughed in a friendly way.

“I suppose not.  It is only in the wisdom of middle age that we lose heart.  In youth we lose our hearts—­a very different thing.”

“I propose still to come to this house.”

“As often as you will, Captain Chayne,” said Garratt Skinner, gaily.  “My doors are always open to you.  I am not such a fool as to give you a romantic interest by barring you out.”

Garratt Skinner had another reason for his hospitality which he kept to himself.  He was inclined to believe that a few more visits from Captain Chayne would settle his chances without the necessity of any interference.  It was Garratt Skinner’s business, as that of any other rogue, to play with simple artifices upon the faults and vanities of men.  He had, therefore, cultivated a habit of observation; he had become naturally attentive to trifles which others might overlook; and he was aware that he needed to go very warily in the delicate business on which he was now engaged.  He was fighting Sylvia for the possession of Walter Hine—­that he had recognized—­and Chayne for the possession of Sylvia.  It was a three-cornered contest, and he had in consequence kept his eyes alert.  He had noticed that Chayne was growing importunate, and that his persistence was becoming troublesome to Sylvia.  She gave him a less warm welcome each time that he came to the house.  She made plans to prevent herself being left alone with him, and if by chance the plans failed she listened rather than talked and listened almost with an air of boredom.