“Then it was the Hermit of Far End,” announced Molly.

“The Hermit of Far End?”

“Yes.  He’s a queer, silent man who lives all by himself at a house built almost on the edge of Monk’s Cliff—­you must have seen it as you drove up?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Sara, with sudden enlightenment.  “Then his name is Trent.  The cabman presented me with that information,” she added, in answer to Molly’s look of surprise.

“Yes—­Garth Trent.  It’s rather an odd name—­sounds like a railway collision, doesn’t it?  But it suits him somehow”—­reflectively.

“Have you met him?” prompted Sara.  It was odd how definite an interest her brief encounter with him had aroused in her.

“Yes—­once.  He treated me”—­giggling delightedly—­“rather as if I wasn’t there!  At least”—­reminiscently—­“he tried to.”

“It doesn’t sound as though he had succeeded?” suggested Sara, amused.

Molly looked at her solemnly.

“He told some one afterwards—­Miles Herrick, the only man he ever speaks to, I think, without compulsion—­that I was ’the Delilah type of woman, and ought to have been strangled at birth.’”

“He must be a charming person,” commented Sara ironically.

“Oh, he’s a woman-hater—­in fact, I believe he has a grudge against the world in general, but woman in particular.  I expect”—­shrewdly—­“he’s been crossed in love.”

At this moment Selwyn re-entered the room, his grave face clearing a little as he caught sight of his daughter.

“Hullo, Molly mine!  Got back, then?” he said, smiling.  “Have you made your peace with Miss Tennant, you scatterbrained young woman?”

“It’s a hereditary taint, Dad—­don’t blame me!” retorted Molly with lazy impudence, pulling his head down and kissing him on the top of his ruffled hair.

Selwyn grinned.

“I pass,” he submitted.  “And who is it that’s been crossed in love?”

“The Hermit of Far End.”

“Oh”—­turning to Sara—­“so you have been discussing our local enigma?”

“Yes.  I fancy I must have travelled down with him from Oldhampton.  He seemed rather a boorish individual.”

“He would be.  He doesn’t like women.”

“Monk’s Cliff would appear to be an appropriate habitation for him, then,” commented Sara tartly.

They all laughed, and presently Selwyn suggested that his daughter should run up and see her mother.

“She’ll be hurt if you don’t go up, kiddy,” he said.  “And try and be very nice to her—­she’s a little tired and upset to-day.”

When she had left the room he turned to Sara, a curious blending of proud reluctance and regret in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Tennant,” he said simply, “that you should have seen our worst side so soon after your arrival.  You—­you must try and pardon it—­”

“Oh, please, please don’t apologize,” broke in Sara hastily.  “I’m so sorry I happened to be there just then.  It was horrible for you.”