Mr. Cecil Burleigh had friends and acquaintances everywhere, and some very dear friends at this moment at Ryde.  That was why he ended his yachting there.  As he advanced with Bessie up the pier every minute there was an arrest, a brisk inquiry, and a reply.  At last a halt that might have been a rendezvous occurred, finding of seats ensued, with general introductions, and then a settling down on pretence of watching the yachts through a glass.  It was a very pretty spectacle, and Bessie was left at liberty to enjoy it, and also to take note of the many gay and fashionable folk who enrich and embellish Ryde in the season; for Mr. Cecil Burleigh was entirely engrossed with another person.  The party they had joined consisted of a very thin old gentleman, spruce, well brushed, and well cared for; of a languid, pale lady, some thirty years younger, who was his wife; and of two girls, their daughters.  It was one of these daughters who absorbed all Mr. Cecil Burleigh’s attention, and Bessie recognized her at once as that most beautiful young lady to whom he had been devoted at the Fairfield wedding.  His meeting with her had quite transfigured him.  He looked infinitely glad, an expression that was reflected on her countenance in a lovely light of joy.  It was not necessary to be a witch to discern that there was an understanding between these two—­that they loved one another.  Bessie saw it and felt sympathetic, and was provoked at the recollection of her foolish conceit in being perplexed by the gentleman’s elaborate courtesies to herself.

The other sister talked to her.  Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner sat in silent pensiveness, according to their wont, contemplating the boats on the water.  Mr. Cecil Burleigh and Julia (he called her Julia) conversed together in low but earnest tones.  It seemed that they had much to communicate.  Presently they crossed the pier, and stood for ever so long leaning over the railing.  Bessie was not inquisitive, but she could take a lively, unselfish interest in many matters that did not concern her.  When they turned round again she was somehow not surprised to see that Mr. Cecil Burleigh had a constrained air, and that the shell-pink face of the young lady was pale and distorted with emotion.  Their joy and gladness had been but evanescent.  She came hastily to her mother and said they would now go home to luncheon.  On the way she and Mr. Cecil Burleigh followed behind the rest, but they did not speak much, or spoke only of common things.

The Gardiners had a small house in a street turning up from the Strand, a confined little house of the ordinary lodging-house sort, with a handsbreadth of gravel and shrubs in front, and from the sitting-room window up stairs a side-glance at the sea.  From a few words that Mr. Gardiner dropped, Bessie learned that it was theirs for twelve months, until the following June; that it was very dear, but the cheapest place they could get in Ryde fit to put their heads into; also that Ryde was chosen as their home for a year because it was cheerful for “poor papa.”