Two days later we received a most polite reply from the opposing interest.  It ran after this fashion:—­

“CRAIG-ELLACHIE LODGE,

“GLEN-ELLACHIE, INVERNESS-SHIRE.

“DEAR SIR CHARLES VANDRIFT—­Thanks for yours of the 20th.  In reply, I can only say I fully reciprocate your amiable desire that nothing adverse to either of our companies should happen in South Africa.  With regard to your suggestion that we should meet in person, to discuss the basis of a possible amalgamation, I can only say my house is at present full of guests—­as is doubtless your own—­and I should therefore find it practically impossible to leave Glen-Ellachie.  Fortunately, however, my son David is now at home on a brief holiday from Kimberley; and it will give him great pleasure to come over and hear what you have to say in favour of an arrangement which certainly, on some grounds, seems to me desirable in the interests of both our concessions alike.  He will arrive to-morrow afternoon at Seldon, and he is authorised, in every respect, to negotiate with full powers on behalf of myself and the other directors.  With kindest regards to your wife and sons, I remain, dear Sir Charles, yours faithfully,

“CRAIG-ELLACHIE.”

“Cunning old fox!” Sir Charles exclaimed, with a sniff.  “What’s he up to now, I wonder?  Seems almost as anxious to amalgamate as we ourselves are, Sey.”  A sudden thought struck him.  “Do you know,” he cried, looking up, “I really believe the same thing must have happened to both our exploring parties. They must have found a reef that goes under our ground, and the wicked old rascal wants to cheat us out of it!”

“As we want to cheat him,” I ventured to interpose.

Charles looked at me fixedly.  “Well, if so, we’re both in luck,” he murmured, after a pause; “though we can only get to know the whereabouts of their find by joining hands with them and showing them ours.  Still, it’s good business either way.  But I shall be cautious—­cautious.”

“What a nuisance!” Amelia cried, when we told her of the incident.  “I suppose I shall have to put the man up for the night—­a nasty, raw-boned, half-baked Scotchman, you may be certain.”

On Wednesday afternoon, about three, young Granton arrived.  He was a pleasant-featured, red-haired, sandy-whiskered youth, not unlike his father; but, strange to say, he dropped in to call, instead of bringing his luggage.

“Why, you’re not going back to Glen-Ellachie to-night, surely?” Charles exclaimed, in amazement.  “Lady Vandrift will be so disappointed!  Besides, this business can’t be arranged between two trains, do you think, Mr. Granton?”

Young Granton smiled.  He had an agreeable smile—­canny, yet open.

“Oh no,” he said frankly.  “I didn’t mean to go back.  I’ve put up at the inn.  I have my wife with me, you know—­and, I wasn’t invited.”