He did not answer at once.  He, in his turn, was looking at her.  In her tailor-made gown, short and fashionably cut, her silk stockings and high-heeled shoes, she certainly seemed far indeed removed from any of the women of those parts.  Her dark hair was arranged after a fashion that was strange to him.  Her delicately pale skin, her deep grey eyes, and unusually scarlet lips were all indications of her foreign extraction.  He looked at her long and searchingly.  This was the girl, then, whom his brother was hoping to marry.

“You are not English,” he remarked, a little abruptly.

She shook her head.

“My father was a Portuguese,” she said, “and my mother French.  I was born in England, though.  You, I suppose, have lived here all your life?”

“All my life,” he repeated.  “We villagers, you see, have not much opportunity for travel.”

“But I am not sure,” she said, looking at him a little doubtfully, “that you are a villager.”

“I can assure you,” he answered, “that there is no doubt whatever about it.  Can you see out yonder a little house on the island there?”

She followed his outstretched finger.

“Of course I can,” she answered.  “Is that your home?”

He nodded.

“I am there most of my time,” he answered.

“It looks charming,” she said, a little doubtfully, “but isn’t it lonely?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps,” he answered.  “I am only ten minutes’ sail from the mainland, though.”

She looked again at the house, long and low, with its plaster walls bare of any creeping thing.

“It must be rather fascinating,” she admitted, “to live upon an island.  Are you married?”

“No!” he answered.

“Do you mean that you live quite alone?” she asked.

He smiled down upon her as one might smile at an inquisitive child.  “I have a ser—­some one to look after me,” he said.  “Except for that I am quite alone.  I am going to set you ashore here.  You see those telegraph posts?  That is the road which leads direct to the Hall.”

She was still looking at the island, watching the waves break against a little stretch of pebbly beach.

“I should like very much,” she said, “to see that house.  Can you not take me out there?”

He shook his head.

“We could not get so far in this punt,” he said, “and my sailing boat is up at the village quay, more than a mile away.”

She frowned a little.  She was not used to having any request of hers disregarded.

“Could we not go to the village,” she asked, “and change into your boat?”

He shook his head.

“I am going fishing,” he said, “in a different direction.  Allow me.”

He stepped on to land and lifted her out.  She hesitated for a moment and felt for her purse.

“You must let me recompense you,” she said coldly, “for the time you have lost in coming to my assistance.”