“Well, I want to talk to you about that girl.”

“What right have you to interfere?  That’s my business, not yours.”

“If you are going to be angry, I’ll shut up.  But I tell you plainly, it’s a beastly shame; and if you dare to do any harm to her I’ll kick you out of the place.”

“Out of what place?”

“Why, out of this or any other place I find you in.  You’ve no right to go meeting her as you do.”

“And you’ve no right to speak of her like that.  She is as pure as any child in the world, and you ought to know I would do her no harm.  You are trying to insult both me and her.”

“Well, I’m very glad to hear you say so.  But, see what folly it all is.  You know you don’t intend to marry her.  Do you?”

“Why, as to that I don’t know.  I’m not obliged to tell you what I mean to do.”

“No; but you ought to think about what you mean to do.  You know she is engaged to be married to Hawkstone.”

“Yes; but I don’t think she cares for him a bit—­only to tease him.”

“Do just think what you are doing as a man and a gentleman—­I won’t say as a Christian, for you tell me you mean nothing bad.  But is it manly, is it fair to play these sort of tricks?  I must tell you we must give up being chums any longer if this goes on.”

“I tell you what, Glenville, I think you are giving yourself mighty fine airs, and all about nothing; but just because you have an uncle who is a lord you think you may preach as much as you like.”

“Oh, come now, that’s all nonsense!” said Glenville.  “If you are determined to shut me up, I’ve done. Liberavi animam meam.  I am sorry if I have offended you.  I say it’s quite time we went to join the other fellows.  They want us to go with some of the ladies over the cliffs.”

“Thanks, I can’t come.  I’ve a lot more work to do, and—­and I’ve hurt my heel a bit and don’t care to go a stiff climb to-day.”

Glenville looked at him, and saw a red glow rising in his neck as he turned away his face and sat down to a book on the table, pretending to read, as Glenville left the room.

The sky was dark, and ominous of storm.  It had a torn and ragged appearance, as if it had already had a fight with worse weather and was trying to escape.  The sea-gulls showed like white breakers upon the dark sky.  The waves roared and grumbled, lashing themselves into a fury as they burst in white, wrathful foam against the black rocks, and then drew back, torn and mangled, to mingle with the crowd of waves rushing on to their doom.  The visitors, dressed for squally weather, in waterproofs or rough suits, walked up and down the parade, enjoying the exhilarating breeze, or stood watching with eager excitement the entry of a fishing smack into the harbour.  Far away out at sea in the mist of distant spray and rain two or three brigantines or schooners could be dimly descried labouring with the storm;—­mysterious