“It is no good setting an example to people who are hundreds of miles away,” said the matter-of-fact Miss Nugent.  “Besides, if they have made friends, they don’t want an example set them.”

“But in that case they have set us an example which we ought to follow,” urged Hardy.

Miss Nugent raised her eyes to his.  “Why do you wish to be on friendly terms?” she asked, with disconcerting composure.

[Illustration:  “‘Why do you wish to be on friendly terms?’ she asked.”]

“I should like to know your father,” returned Hardy, with perfect gravity; “and Mrs. Kingdom—­and you.”

He eyed her steadily as he spoke, and Miss Nugent, despite her utmost efforts, realized with some indignation that a faint tinge of colour was creeping into her cheeks.  She remembered his covert challenge at their last interview at Mr. Wilks’s, and the necessity of reading this persistent young man a stern lesson came to her with all the force of a public duty.

“Why?” she inquired, softly, as she lowered her eyes and assumed a pensive expression.

“I admire him, for one thing, as a fine seaman,” said Hardy.

“Yes,” said Miss Nugent, “and—­”

“And I’ve always had a great liking for Mrs. Kingdom,” he continued; “she was very good-natured to me when I was a very small boy, I remember.  She is very kind and amiable.”

The baffled Miss Nugent stole a glance at him.  “And—­” she said again, very softly.

“And very motherly,” said Hardy, without moving a muscle.

Miss Nugent pondered and stole another glance at him.  The expression of his face was ingenuous, not to say simple.  She resolved to risk it.  So far he had always won in their brief encounters, and monotony was always distasteful to her, especially monotony of that kind.

“And what about me?” she said, with a friendly smile.

“You,” said Hardy, with a gravity of voice belied by the amusement in his eye; “you are the daughter of the fine seaman and the niece of the good-natured and motherly Mrs. Kingdom.”

Miss Nugent looked down again hastily, and all the shrew within her clamoured for vengeance.  It was the same masterful Jem Hardy that had forced his way into their seat at church as a boy.  If he went on in this way he would become unbearable; she resolved, at the cost of much personal inconvenience, to give him a much-needed fall.  But she realized quite clearly that it would be a matter of time.

“Of course, you and Jack are already good friends?” she said, softly.

“Very,” assented Hardy.  “Such good friends that I have been devoting a lot of time lately to considering ways and means of getting him out of the snares of the Kybirds.”

“I should have thought that that was his affair,” said Miss Nugent, haughtily.

“Mine, too,” said Hardy.  “I don’t want him to marry Miss Kybird.”

For the first time since the engagement Miss Nugent almost approved of it.  “Why not let him know your wishes?” she said, gently.  “Surely that would be sufficient.”