"Rot! You don't now. You only think you do. But I'm interested. I
expect to have some business dealing with Carwell myself, and if I
could get a line - "

"Sorry, but I can't help you out, old man. Better see Harry. He knows
the whole story, and he insists that it was all straight on his
relatives' part. But it's like shaking a mince pie at a Thanksgiving
turkey to mention the matter to Carwell. He hasn't gone so far as to
forbid Harry the house, but there's a bit of coldness just the same."

"I see. And that's why the captain has the inside edge on the love
game. Well, Miss Carwell has a mind of her own, I fancy."

"Indeed she has! She's more like her mother used to be. I remember
Mrs. Carwell when I was a boy. She was a dear, somewhat conventional
lady. How she ever came to take up with the sporty Horace, or he with
her, was a seven-days' wonder. But they lived happily, I believe."

"Then Mrs. Carwell is dead?"

"Oh, yes-some years. Mr. Carwell's sister, Miss Mary, keeps The Haven
up to date for him. You've been there?"

"Once, at a reception. I'm not on the regular calling list, though Miss
Viola is pretty enough to - "

"Look out !" suddenly cried Sharwell, as though appealing to the two
automobilists, far off as they were. For the yellow car made a sudden
swerve and seemed about to turn turtle.