“There, do as you like.  Get your things ready to leave this evening.  No, I’m not angry.”—­Who could be? he seemed as he looked up from her modest fondling to ask Adrian, and seized the indemnity of a kiss on her forehead, which, however, did not immediately disperse the shade of annoyance he felt.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed.  “Such a day as this, and a fellow refuses to come on the water!  Well, come along to the edge of the sea.”  Adrian’s angelic quality had quite worn off to him.  He never thought of devoting himself to make the most of the material there was:  but somebody else did, and that fair somebody succeeded wonderfully in a few short hours.  She induced Adrian to reflect that the baronet had only to see her, and the family muddle would be smoothed at once.  He came to it by degrees; still the gradations were rapid.  Her manner he liked; she was certainly a nice picture:  best of all, she was sensible.  He forgot the farmer’s niece in her, she was so very sensible.  She appeared really to understand that it was a woman’s duty to know how to cook.

But the difficulty was, by what means the baronet could be brought to consent to see her.  He had not yet consented to see his son, and Adrian, spurred by Lady Blandish, had ventured something in coming down.  He was not inclined to venture more.  The small debate in his mind ended by his throwing the burden on time.  Time would bring the matter about.  Christians as well as Pagans are in the habit of phrasing this excuse for folding their arms; “forgetful,” says The Pilgrim’s Scrip, “that the devil’s imps enter into no such armistice.”

As she loitered along the shore with her amusing companion, Lucy had many things to think of.  There was her darling’s match.  The yachts were started by pistol-shot by Lord Mountfalcon on board the Empress, and her little heart beat after Richard’s straining sails.  Then there was the strangeness of walking with a relative of Richard’s, one who had lived by his side so long.  And the thought that perhaps this night she would have to appear before the dreaded father of her husband.

“O Mr. Harley!” she said, “is it true—­are we to go tonight?  And me,” she faltered, “will he see me?”

“Ah! that is what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Adrian.  “I made some reply to our dear boy which he has slightly misinterpreted.  Our second person plural is liable to misconstruction by an ardent mind.  I said ‘see you,’ and he supposed—­now, Mrs. Richard, I am sure you will understand me.  Just at present perhaps it would be advisable—­when the father and son have settled their accounts, the daughter-in-law can’t be a debtor."...

Lucy threw up her blue eyes.  A half-cowardly delight at the chance of a respite from the awful interview made her quickly apprehensive.

“O Mr. Harley! you think he should go alone first?”

“Well, that is my notion.  But the fact is, he is such an excellent husband that I fancy it will require more than a man’s power of persuasion to get him to go.”