In the course of a week the Pollokshields Fordyces also arrived at their Coast residence, and there began to be a quite unprecedented amount of friendly coming and going between the two families.  It became evident before long that George Fordyce appeared to find some great attraction at The Anchorage, though in former years he had only presented himself at rare intervals during the months his people were at the sea-side.  And those who looked on saw quite well how matters were drifting, and each viewed it in a different light.  The most unconscious, of course, was Gladys herself.  She knew that everybody was kind to her—­George Fordyce, perhaps, specially so.  He could be a very gallant squire when he liked.  He was master of all the little attentions women love, and in his manner towards Gladys managed to infuse a certain deference, not untouched by tenderness, which she found quite gratifying.  She had so long lived a meagre, barren existence that she seemed almost greedy of the lovely and pleasant things of life.  She enjoyed wearing her beautiful gowns, living in luxurious rooms, eating dainty food at a well-appointed table.  In all that there was nothing unnatural, it was but the inevitable reaction after what she had gone through.  She began to understand that life has two sides, one for the rich and one for the poor, and she was glad, with an honest, simple gladness, that she had been permitted to taste the best last.  She retained her simple, genuine manner; but her soul had had its first taste of power, and found it surpassing sweet.  Beauty and riches had proved themselves valuable in her eyes, and there were times when she looked back upon the old life with a shudder.  In the intoxication, of that first summer of her new life, memory of Walter grew dim in her heart.  She thought of him but seldom, never of her own free will.  Unconsciously she was learning a lesson which wealth and power so arrogantly strive to teach—­to put away from her all unpleasant thoughts.  Let us not blame her.  She was very young, and experience has to lead the human heart by many tortuous ways to full understanding.  So Gladys lived her happy, careless, girlish summer by the sea, enjoying it to the full.

‘Tom,’ said Mrs. Fordyce to her husband one afternoon, as they sat at the drawing-room window watching the young folks in the garden, ’do you think there is anything serious between Gladys and George Fordyce?’

‘Eh, what?  No, I don’t think so.’

‘Well, I do.  Just look at them at this moment.’

They were sauntering arm in arm on the path within the shadow of the garden wall, Gladys with a bunch of pink sea daisies in her hand, a pretty bit of colour against her white gown.  There was a tint as delicate in the fair cheek under the big sun hat, brought there, perhaps, by some of her companion’s words.  His attitude and bearing were certainly lover-like, and his handsome head was bent rather nearer the big sun hat than Mrs. Fordyce altogether approved.