It was not so easy to catch her.  Ladies are not built for running; but a fine, tall, symmetrical girl who has practised walking fast can cover the ground wonderfully in walking—­if she chooses.  It was a sight to see how Rosa Lusignan squared her shoulders and stepped out from the waist like a Canadian girl skating, while her elastic foot slapped the pavement as she spanked along.

She had nearly cleared the town before Falcon came up with her.

He was hardly ten yards from her when an unexpected incident occurred.  She whisked round the corner of Bird Street, and ran plump against Christopher Staines; in fact, she darted into his arms, and her face almost touched the breast she had wounded so deeply.

CHAPTER IV.

Rosa cried “Oh!” and put up her hands to her face in lovely confusion, coloring like a peony.

“I beg your pardon,” said Christopher, stiffly, but in a voice that trembled.

“No,” said Rosa, “it was I ran against you.  I walk so fast now.  Hope I did not hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

“Well, then, frighten you?”

No answer.

“Oh, please don’t quarrel with me in the street,” said Rosa, cunningly implying that he was the quarrelsome one.  “I am going on the beach.  Good-by!” This adieu she uttered softly, and in a hesitating tone that belied it.  She started off, however, but much more slowly than she was going before; and, as she went, she turned her head with infinite grace, and kept looking askant down at the pavement two yards behind her:  moreover she went close to the wall, and left room at her side for another to walk.

Christopher hesitated a moment; but the mute invitation, so arch yet timid, so pretty, tender, sly, and womanly, was too much for him, as it has generally proved for males, and the philosopher’s foot was soon in the very place to which the Simpleton with the mere tail of her eye directed it.

They walked along, side by side, in silence, Staines agitated, gloomy, confused, Rosa radiant and glowing, yet not knowing what to say for herself, and wanting Christopher to begin.  So they walked along without a word.

Falcon followed them at some distance to see whether it was an admirer or only an acquaintance.  A lover he never dreamed of; she had shown such evident pleasure in his company, and had received his visits alone so constantly.

However, when the pair had got to the beach, and were walking slower and slower, he felt a pang of rage and jealousy, turned on his heel with an audible curse, and found Phoebe Dale a few yards behind him with a white face and a peculiar look.  He knew what the look meant; he had brought it to that faithful face before to-day.

“You are better, Miss Lusignan.”

“Better, Dr. Staines?  I am health itself thanks to—­hem!”

“Our estrangement has agreed with you?” This very bitterly.