“And so Urquhart wrote to him,” the old bookseller was saying, “and I got his reply yesterday⁠ ⁠… by the second post. Olwen met the postman and brought it to me in the shop. You weren’t afraid of your old granddad, were you, my chick?” He looked round the table, as he said this, with an expression of crafty triumph.

“We mustn’t bore Darnley with our business-affairs, Father,” interrupted Christie, “on the very eve of his wedding-day.”

But Darnley too had caught the unusual quiver of excitement in the old man’s voice, and had fixed his blue eyes intently upon him.

“No, no,” he said. “Please go on, Sir; please go on.”