He should not have written the report.  It sent a titter over England.  He was so unwise as to despatch a copy of the newspaper containing it to Van Diemen Smith.  Van Diemen perused it with satisfaction.  So did Tinman.  Both of these praised the able young writer.  But they handed the paper to the Coastguard Lieutenant, who asked Tinman how he liked it; and visitors were beginning to drop in to Crikswich, who made a point of asking for a sight of the chief man; and then came a comic publication, all in the Republican tone of the time, with Man’s Dignity for the standpoint, and the wheezy laughter residing in old puns to back it, in eulogy of the satiric report of the famous Address of congratulation of the Bailiff of Crikswich.

“Annette,” Van Diemen said to his daughter, “you’ll not encourage that newspaper fellow to come down here any more.  He had his warning.”

CHAPTER VI

One of the most difficult lessons for spirited young men to learn is, that good jokes are not always good policy.  They have to be paid for, like good dinners, though dinner and joke shall seem to have been at somebody else’s expense.  Young Fellingham was treated rudely by Van Diemen Smith, and with some cold reserve by Annette:  in consequence of which he thought her more than ever commonplace.  He wrote her a letter of playful remonstrance, followed by one that appealed to her sentiments.

But she replied to neither of them.  So his visits to Crikswich came to an end.

Shall a girl who has no appreciation of fun affect us?  Her expressive eyes, and her quaint simplicity, and her enthusiasm for England, haunted Mr. Fellingham; being conjured up by contrast with what he met about him.  But shall a girl who would impose upon us the task of holding in our laughter at Tinman be much regretted?  There could be no companionship between us, Fellingham thought.

On an excursion to the English Lakes he saw the name of Van Diemen Smith in a visitors’ book, and changed his ideas on the subject of companionship.  Among mountains, or on the sea, or reading history, Annette was one in a thousand.  He happened to be at a public ball at Helmstone in the Winter season, and who but Annette herself came whirling before him on the arm of an officer!  Fellingham did not miss his chance of talking to her.  She greeted him gaily, and speaking with the excitement of the dance upon her, appeared a stranger to the serious emotions he was willing to cherish.  She had been to the Lakes and to Scotland.  Next summer she was going to Wales.  All her experiences were delicious.  She was insatiable, but satisfied.

“I wish I had been with you,” said Fellingham.

“I wish you had,” said she.

Mrs. Cavely was her chaperon at the ball, and he was not permitted to enjoy a lengthened conversation sitting with Annette.  What was he to think of a girl who could be submissive to Mrs. Cavely, and danced with any number of officers, and had no idea save of running incessantly over England in the pursuit of pleasure?  Her tone of saying, “I wish you had,” was that of the most ordinary of wishes, distinctly, if not designedly different from his own melodious depth.