“Of course,” Nora Miall observed, looking up at her host pleasantly, “I can see what is going to happen.  Mr. Dartrey came out here to talk to you upon most important matters.  This place, the beauty of it all, is acting upon him like a soporific.  If we don’t shake him up presently, he will go away with wonderful mind pictures of your cliffs and sea, and his whole mission unfulfilled.”

“Libellous as usual, Nora,” Dartrey murmured, without turning his head.  “Mr. Tallente is providing me with a few minutes of intense enjoyment.  He has assured me that his time is ours.  Soon I shall finish my tea, light a cigarette and talk.  Just now you may exercise the privilege of your sex unhindered and better your own acquaintance with our host.”

The girl laughed up into Tallente’s face.

“Very likely Mr. Tallente doesn’t wish to improve his acquaintance with me,” she said.

Tallente hastened to reassure her.  Somehow, the presence of these two did much to soothe the mental irritation which Miller had set up in him.  They at least were of the world of understandable things.  Miller, slouching in his chair, with a cheap tie-clip showing underneath his waistcoat, a bulging mass of sock descending over the top of his boot, rolling a cigarette with yellow-stained, objectionable fingers, still involved him in introspective speculation as to real values in life.

“I have often felt myself unfortunate in not having met you before, Miss Miall,” he said.  “Some of your writings have interested me immensely.”

“Some of them?” she queried, with a smile.

“Absolute agreement would deny us even the stimulus of an argument,” he observed.  “Besides, after all, men find it more difficult to get rid of prejudices than women.”

She leaned forward to help herself to a cigarette and he studied her for a moment.  She was a little under medium height, trimly yet almost squarely built.  Her mouth was delightful, humourous and attractive, and her eyes were of the deepest shade of violet, with black, silken eyelashes.  Her voice was the voice of a cultivated woman, and Tallente, as he mostly listened to her light ripple of conversation, realised that the charm which was hers by reputation was by no means undeserved.  In many ways she astonished him.  The stories which had been told of her, even written, were incredible, yet her manners were entirely the manners of one of his own world.  The trio—­Dartrey, with his silence and occasional monosyllabic remarks—­seemed to draw closer together at every moment until Miller, obviously chafing at his isolation, thrust himself into the conversation.

“Mr. Tallente,” he said, taking advantage of a moment’s pause to direct the conversation into a different channel, “we kept our word at Hellesfield.”

“You did,” his host acknowledged drily.  “You succeeded in cheating me out of the seat.  I still don’t know why.”

He turned as though appealing to Dartrey, and Dartrey accepted the challenge, swinging a little around in his chair and tapping his cigarette against the table, preparatory to lighting it.