THE threatening of storm and change passed away with the night.  When morning rose over Aldborough, the sun was master in the blue heaven, and the waves were rippling gayly under the summer breeze.

At an hour when no other visitors to the watering—­place were yet astir, the indefatigable Wragge appeared at the door of North Shingles Villa, and directed his steps northward, with a neatly-bound copy of “Joyce’s Scientific Dialogues” in his hand.  Arriving at the waste ground beyond the houses, he descended to the beach and opened his book.  The interview of the past night had sharpened his perception of the difficulties to be encountered in the coming enterprise.  He was now doubly determined to try the characteristic experiment at which he had hinted in his letter to Magdalen, and to concentrate on himself—­in the character of a remarkably well-informed man—­the entire interest and attention of the formidable Mrs. Lecount.

Having taken his dose of ready-made science (to use his own expression) the first thing in the morning on an empty stomach, Captain Wragge joined his small family circle at breakfast-time, inflated with information for the day.  He observed that Magdalen’s face showed plain signs of a sleepless night.  She made no complaint:  her manner was composed, and her temper perfectly under control.  Mrs. Wragge—­refreshed by some thirteen consecutive hours of uninterrupted repose—­was in excellent spirits, and up at heel (for a wonder) with both shoes.  She brought with her into the room several large sheets of tissue-paper, cut crisply into mysterious and many-varying forms, which immediately provoked from her husband the short and sharp question, “What have you got there?”

“Patterns, captain,” said Mrs. Wragge, in timidly conciliating tones.  “I went shopping in London, and bought an Oriental Cashmere Robe.  It cost a deal of money; and I’m going to try and save, by making it myself.  I’ve got my patterns, and my dress-making directions written out as plain as print.  I’ll be very tidy, captain; I’ll keep in my own corner, if you’ll please to give me one; and whether my head Buzzes, or whether it don’t, I’ll sit straight at my work all the same.”

“You will do your work,” said the captain, sternly, “when you know who you are, who I am, and who that young lady is—­not before.  Show me your shoes!  Good.  Show me you cap!  Good.  Make the breakfast.”

When breakfast was over, Mrs. Wragge received her orders to retire into an adjoining room, and to wait there until her husband came to release her.  As soon as her back was turned, Captain Wragge at once resumed the conversation which had been suspended, by Magdalen’s own desire, on the preceding night.  The questions he now put to her all related to the subject of her visit in disguise to Noel Vanstone’s house.  They were the questions of a thoroughly clear-headed man—­short, searching, and straight to the point.  In less than half an hour’s time he had made himself acquainted with every incident that had happened in Vauxhall Walk.