‘I have been expecting to see you,’ said the lady.  ’We arrived three days ago.’

Widdowson, starting with surprise, turned to examine the speaker.  He saw a woman of something less than middle age, unfashionably attired, good-looking, with an air of high spirits; only when she offered her hand to him did he remember having met her at Miss Barfoot’s.  To be graceful in a high wind is difficult for any man; the ungainliness with which he returned Mrs. Cosgrove’s greeting could not have been surpassed, and probably would have been much the same even had he not, of necessity, stood clutching at his felt hat.

The three talked for a few minutes.  With Mrs. Cosgrove were two persons, a younger woman and a man of about thirty—­the latter a comely and vivacious fellow, with rather long hair of the orange-tawny hue.  These looked at Monica, but Mrs. Cosgrove made no introduction.

‘Come and see me, will you?’ she said, mentioning her address.  ’One can’t get much in the evenings; I shall be nearly always at home after dinner, and we have music—­of a kind.’

Monica boldly accepted the invitation, said she would be glad to come.  Then Mrs. Cosgrove took leave of them, and walked landwards with her companions.

Widdowson stood gazing at the sea.  There was no misreading his countenance.  When Monica had remarked it, she pressed her lips together, and waited for what he would say or do.  He said nothing, but presently turned his back upon the waves and began to walk on.  Neither spoke until they were in the shelter of the streets; then Widdowson asked suddenly,—­

‘Who is that person?’

‘I only know her name, and that she goes to Miss Barfoot’s.’

‘It’s a most extraordinary thing,’ he exclaimed in high irritation.  ‘There’s no getting out of the way of those people.’

Monica also was angry; her cheeks, reddened by the wind, grew hotter.

‘It’s still more extraordinary that you should object so to them.’

’Whether or no—­I do object, and I had rather you didn’t go to see that woman.’

‘You are unreasonable,’ Monica answered sharply.  ’Certainly I shall go and see her.’

’I forbid you to do so!  If you go, it will be in defiance of my wish.’

‘Then I am obliged to defy your wish.  I shall certainly go.’

His face was frightfully distorted.  Had they been in a lonely spot, Monica would have felt afraid of him.  She moved hurriedly away in the direction of their lodgings, and for a few paces he followed; then he checked himself, turned round about, took an opposite way.

With strides of rage he went along by the quay, past the hotels and the smaller houses that follow, on to St. Sampson.  The wind, again preparing for a tempestuous night, beat and shook and at moments all but stopped him; he set his teeth like a madman, and raged on.  Past the granite quarries at Bordeaux Harbour, then towards the wild north extremity of the island, the sandy waste of L’Ancresse.  When darkness began to fall, no human being was in his range of sight.  He stood on one spot for nearly a quarter of an hour, watching, or appearing to watch, the black, low-flying scud.