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Half an hour later Fenella returned to her study and found to her relief that it was unoccupied. Martin had evidently given up any idea of working in the meantime, and Fenella noticed that the manuscript she had been reading had also vanished. Well, of course, Martin wouldn’t want to leave that lying about, for since to some extent at least it was a true story, it gave far too much useful information to anyone who read it.

However, with the memory of what she had read still vivid in her mind, she took out the sketch book which Anthony had shown to Martin and which had suggested the idea of doing this work, and also a portfolio of loose drawings. Some, she thought, might answer Martin’s purpose just as they were, and then they could work out what others would be needed.

So, when Martin did come back, he found her sitting at the window table sorting out the drawings. She explained what she was doing and Martin expressed his approval of the idea.

“There are two suggestions I'd like to make for subsequent drawings,” he remarked when they had chosen what they felt were suitable. “While it’s fresh in your mind—that is, if you don’t mind too much—”

“The explosion?” she asked quickly. “And then, afterwards, when those bits of wood were floating about? You’re going to include that in your book?”

“Yes,” he said determinedly. “It’s part of the story— it's got to go in. Well? Will you do them?”

“Yes, all right,” Fenella promised, tidying the drawings that wouldn’t be wanted back into the portfolio. “And I’m sorry I was such an idiot over it all, Martin. Of course it had to be done—and of course it was wiser to do it without telling many people, seeing—seeing the way people feel.”

“Yes,” he agreed abstractedly.

He sat down at the desk and began doodling in a preoccupied way. Suddenly he dropped the pencil with a clatter and come over to sit on the edge of the table.

“Fenella, if you were able to decide, how would you want all this to end? I mean, what would you feel was a satisfactory ending?”

“Oh, that the miniature should be found and given back to Captain Franks,” she said unhesitatingly.

Martin nodded.

“That, of course,” he agreed with a hint of impatience. “But where has it been all this time?”

“Didn’t you say you thought someone had found it long ago and had kept it without saying anything about it?” Fenella asked, puzzled that he should put such a question to her.

“Yes—it’s the only logical conclusion to which one can come, I think. But
who,
Fenella? And
when?
Did someone hide it so well that all trace of it has been lost? Or does someone living today know where it is?”

“That would make a better story than that it was just found by chance,” Fenella said critically, and Martin laughed.

“So it would!” he agreed. “And if I can't find what is the truth, then that's how I’ll write it up. But even if it’s less dramatic, I’d so much rather find out for sure—” he brooded for a while, and then said slowly: “Fenella, as a reader, what sort of person would satisfy you as being a likely character for the part?”

“Oh!” Fenella pondered. “In fact or fiction?”

“Let’s say in fact,” Martin suggested, his eyes intent on her face.

“Well, someone with a strong personality,” she said thoughtfully. “Because you’d need that to keep quiet about as exciting a discovery as that, don’t you think?”

“I quite agree.” Martin spoke very softly, anxious not to break the thread of her thoughts.

“Then, I think, someone who’s lived here a long time, perhaps all their life. Because then they’d know what a dangerous thing it was to possess with so many people thinking they ought to have at least a share of its value. And knowing that would be an incentive to say nothing about it, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Martin agreed, and waited. But Fenella shook her head.

“That’s the best I can do, Martin,” she said regretfully. “Except I think it’s possible that if you could find out
why
whoever has it has kept quiet about it, you might find out
who!”

“Because—?” he prompted.

Fenella wrinkled her forehead.

“Because the reason might give a clue to character. You see, it might be sheer greed. Or love of the pretty glittering thing that it must be. Or—” she broke off and looked up at him quickly. “But, Martin, if you’re right in thinking it was found long ago, and yet someone has it today, then more than one person must have had it in their possession! And if so, have they kept quiet for the same reason or different ones?”

“I think the same one. And if so, you’ve got to visualise at least two people with a similar outlook on life,” Martin said, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to see the smallest detail of something so far away as to be almost beyond his vision. “Doesn’t that suggest something to you?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Fenella apologised.

“Don’t apologise! I’m asking an unreasonable degree of—well, intuition if one is being polite or guesswork if one isn’t. But you see, I’ve lived with this problem for so long, thought about it by day and dreamed about it at night, and so I’ve reached the point where I feel that what I think could well have happened must be right— particularly since I met—one particular person. No?” as no gleam of understanding showed in Fenella’s eyes. “Don’t worry, sweetie! It’ll all come out in the wash, one of these days, you see if it doesn’t! ” And grinning at her in a friendly, encouraging way, he rumpled her hair with a gentle hand.

A week later Martin had a letter from his publisher which he brought with him, opened, to the breakfast table.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, Mrs. Trevose, for bringing a business matter to table,” he said politely. “But I know that Fenella is anxious to know the verdict—” he smiled across the table at her. “He’s delighted with your work— and he’d like to see you to discuss terms.”

“Oh,
Martin!
” Fenella breathed ecstatically, clasping her hands and gazing at him in speechless, starry-eyed wonder.

“I say, that’s marvellous.” Anthony said heartily. “Congratulations, Fen! Now I’ll be able to borrow off you if I get hard up! It’s great news, isn’t it, Aunt Gina?”

“Wonderful,” she said with neither enthusiasm nor conviction. “This publisher, Mr. Adair. Where does he live?”

Fenella bit her lip. Several times she had been on the point of asking Aunt Gina to call Martin by his first name, but somehow it just hadn’t been possible. After all, in the apparent circumstances, Aunt Gina ought to have taken the step of her own volition. That she hadn’t was a clear indication of her dislike of Martin, and to try to force the issue would only serve to increase the feeling.

“In London,” Martin told her. “At least, that’s where his office is and where we’d meet him.”

Mrs. Trevose pursed her lips.

“Fenella has never gone a long journey—least of all to London—alone before,” she said coldly.

Stifling a desire to say that in that case, it was about time she did, Martin answered mildly:

“Oh, but she wouldn’t be alone, Mrs. Trevose. I’d be with her.”

Mrs. Trevose stiffened ominously.

“I would like to have this quite clear in my mind,” she said precisely. “Mr. Adair, are you proposing to go to London and back, and have a business meeting all in a single day?”

“Oh no, Mrs. Trevose, that would be impossible,” Martin said cheerfully. “We’d be away for one night at least, possibly two.”

“Indeed! But that, of course, is out of the question.” Mrs. Trevose spoke quite pleasantly but very firmly. “No doubt some people would say that I am old-fashioned in my deference to the conventions—”

“I’d anticipated that you might feel that way,” Martin admitted. “So what I propose is that on our way up, we break our journey at Hampshire and stay overnight with my parents. Then we’ll leave for London bright and early the following morning, see Thoms and do a little shopping—” he glanced significantly at Fenella’s left hand, “come back to Hampshire and return here the following day. What do you think of the idea?”

“Excellent!” Anthony said before Mrs. Trevose could reply. “I don’t see how even Miss Prosser could find material for gossip in that! Which reminds me, I met our Miss P. yesterday and she looks awfully seedy. Seems to have lost all her girlish sparkle and vivacity. Any idea what’s wrong, Aunt Gina?”

“None whatever,” Mrs. Trevose said shortly. She was vexed with what she felt was Martin’s high-handed manner and even more put out by Anthony’s intervention. “Unless, of course, it is that she doesn’t like the modem spirit of disruption—in which case, she has my sympathy! ” And went quickly out of the silent room. “One for me, I’m afraid,” Martin commented ruefully. “And me,” Anthony assured him. “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, Adair. I don’t suppose there was ever a time when the older generation didn’t feel that way about the younger. And personally, I intend to carry on the tradition—you know, convinced that I know best what’s good for my children and heaven knows what they would do to ruin their lives if they were left to their own devices! Dash it, it’s the only way you can ever get your own back! ”

“Hear, hear!” Martin confirmed feelingly. “But I intend to be even craftier than that! I’m going to be a completely indulgent grandparent—absolutely spoil the little blighters. Make sure
my
children know what it means to have troublesome infants to deal with! ”

“Splendid! ” Anthony applauded. “And perfectly safe, because as soon as the youngsters get a nuisance, you opt out and leave it to the parents to cope among the ruins! ”

“I think you’re both absolutely beastly—and childish! Isn’t there enough trouble in the world without you deliberately making more? Besides, it isn’t fair to blame someone for another person’s fault!”

The two men smiled at her vehemence and Fenella’s colour rose.

“I suppose I’m being silly,” she said, half resentfully, half apologetically.

Anthony pushed his chair back and stood up.

“No, you’re being very sensible, old lady. But don’t take us too seriously. Martin and I were just letting off steam—”

He strolled out of the room, whistling unconcernedly. For a moment neither Fenella nor Martin spoke. Then with a little sigh Fenella broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, Martin. It must seem so silly to you, but you see, it’s true. I would be rather a country cousin on my own up in London. So it’s really only natural that Aunt Gina should worry—”

“Is it?” Martin didn’t sound convinced. “All right, then, we’ll leave it at that, shall we? And now there’s something I’ve got to apologise about to you.”

“Oh, what?” Fenella asked, instantly taking alarm.

“Nothing to worry about,” he reassured her. “Just—I took too much for granted. I ought to have asked if you were agreeable to this Hampshire plan before announcing it as a settled thing.”

“Oh, but I think it’s a splendid idea,” Fenella said quickly. “Except—” she hesitated.

“Yes?” Martin encouraged.

“It’s just—it doesn’t seem fair to your parents,” she explained anxiously. “I mean, they’ll welcome me as— as the girl you’re going to marry. Be nice to me in an extra special sort of way when all the time—it doesn’t seem quite fair,” she repeated lamely.

Martin helped himself to another piece of toast before he answered.

“My dear, it’s real enough an engagement for it to have been made public, isn’t it? Well, don’t you see how terribly hurt my people will be if they don’t meet you?”

“Yes, I suppose they will,” she agreed uncomfortably. “But when they find out—afterwards—”

“I see no necessity for them to find out,” Martin said coolly. “After all, broken engagements can happen in any circumstances. Anyway, don’t you remember that we agreed to leave what happens afterwards to the future to look after itself?”

“Yes, but still—” Fenella began doubtfully.

Martin looked at her quizzically.

“Look, Fenella, I think you’ll agree that I’ve fallen in pretty thoroughly with everything you’ve asked me?”

“Oh, you
have!”
she agreed warmly. “You’ve been wonderful!”

“Well now, I’m asking you to fall in with my wishes. I feel rather strongly about this on my parents’ account, so will you just accept it without question?”

He smiled so disarmingly at her that what could Fenella do but agree?

Despite Martin’s wish that they should visit his parents, Fenella felt more and more apprehensive the nearer they got to Ayresford.

In most circumstances a girl visiting her future parents-in-law would be most concerned as to whether they would like her or not. Fenella’s fear was that they would very soon realise that she and Martin were not in love with one another and would be hurt and angry at the deception. And that, despite Martin’s reassurance, could be so and it would be terrible.

She need not have worried. Mr. and Mrs. Adair put her at her ease so quickly and naturally that Fenella was left wondering whether it was done consciously or unconsciously.

Their welcome, though warm and kindly, had none of the fulsomeness which would have suggested that they were determined to like their son’s choice, whether that was in fact so or not. Yet, at the same time, they contrived to avoid any suggestion that she was on probation.

These things alone would have allowed her to relax, but in addition there was the atmosphere of the home to which Martin had brought her. She had not been with the Adairs more than a few moments before she knew beyond doubt that tranquillity and love dwelt here. It showed in the way they spoke to one another, at their quick appreciation of each other’s needs, and the way they smiled whenever their eyes met—

Martin’s father was as tall as he was but more spare. He had what Fenella instantly classed as an American face, although she would have found it difficult to explain just what she meant by that. Perhaps that the features were strong and clean-cut and the eyes, though kindly, were undeniably shrewd. Despite many years’ residence in England, he still retained an accent though considerably softer than many Americans Fenella had heard speak. Now and again, too, he would use an unfamiliar phrase or arrangements of words that she found intriguing and almost always added point and pungency to what he was saying.