“This is one of my fortunate mornings, you see, Esther!” he exclaimed, smiling.  “Lady Saxthorpe has brought her husband over to lunch.  Lady Saxthorpe,” he added, turning to the woman at his side, “let me present to you the son of one of the first men to realise the elusive beauty of our coast.  This is Mr. Hamel, son of Peter Hamel, R.A.—­the Countess of Saxthorpe.”

Lady Saxthorpe, who had been engaged in greeting Esther, held out her hand and smiled good-humouredly at Hamel.

“I know your father’s work quite well,” she declared, “and I don’t wonder that you have made a pilgrimage here.  They tell me that he painted nineteen pictures—­pictures of importance, that is to say —­within this little area of ten miles.  Do you paint, Mr. Hamel?”

“Not at all,” Hamel answered.

“Our friend Hamel,” Mr. Fentolin intervened, “woos other and sterner muses.  He fights nature in distant countries, spans her gorges with iron bridges, stems the fury of her rivers, and carries to the boundary of the world that little twin line of metal which brings men like ants to the work-heaps of the universe.  My dear Florence,” he added, suddenly turning to the woman at his other side, “for the moment I had forgotten.  You have not met our guest yet.  Hamel, this is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.”

She held out her hand to him, unnaturally thin and white, covered with jewels.  Again he saw something in her eyes which stirred him vaguely.

“It is so nice that you are able to spend a few days with us, Mr. Hamel,” she said quietly.  “I am sorry that I have been too indisposed to make your acquaintance earlier.”

“And,” Mr. Fentolin continued, “you must know my young friend here, too.  Mr. Hamel—­Lord Saxthorpe.”

The latter shook hands heartily with the young man.

“I knew your father quite well,” he announced.  “Queer thing, he used to hang out for months at a time at that little shanty on the beach there.  Hardest work in the world to get him away.  He came over to dine with us once or twice, but we saw scarcely anything of him.  I hope his son will not prove so obdurate.”

“You are very kind,” Hamel murmured.

“Mr. Hamel came into these parts to claim his father’s property,” Mr. Fentolin said.  “However, I have persuaded him to spend a day or two up here before he transforms himself into a misanthrope.  What of his golf, Esther, eh?”

“Mr. Hamel plays very well, indeed,” the girl replied.

“Your niece was too good for me,” Hamel confessed.

Mr. Fentolin smiled.

“The politeness of this younger generation,” he remarked, “keeps the truth sometimes hidden from us.  I perceive that I shall not be told who won.  Lady Saxthorpe, you are fortunate indeed in the morning you have chosen for your visit.  There is no sun in the world like an April sun, and no corner of the earth where it shines with such effect as here.  Look steadily to the eastward of that second dike and you will see the pink light upon the sands, which baffled every one until our friend Hamel came and caught it on his canvas.”