The ladies, as they sat in the drawing-room, received visits of a less flattering character than usual.  Reginald kept popping in, inquiring, “Where was Mr. Dodd?” and would not believe they had not hid him somewhere.  He was followed by Kenealy, who came in and put them but one question, “Where is Dawd?”

“We don’t know,” said Mrs. Bazalgette sharply; “we have not been intrusted with the care of Mr. Dodd.”

Kenealy sauntered forth disconsolate.  Finally Mr. Bazalgette put his head in, and surveyed the room keenly but in silence; so then his wife looked up, and asked him satirically if he did not want Mr. Dodd.

“Of course I do,” was the gracious reply; “what else should I come here for?”

“Well, he is lost; you had better put him in the ‘Hue and Cry.’”

La Bazalgette was getting jealous of her own flirtee:  he attracted too much of that attention she loved so dear.

At last Reginald, despairing of Dodd, went in search of another playmate—­Master Christmas, a young gentleman a year older than himself, who lived within half a mile.  Before he went he inquired what there was for his dinner, and, being informed “roast mutton,” was not enraptured; he then asked with greater solicitude what was the pudding, and, being told “rice,” betrayed disgust and anger, as was remembered when too late.

At two o’clock, the day being fine, the ladies went for a long ride, accompanied by Talboys only.  Kenealy excused himself:  “He must see if he could not find Dawd.”

Mrs. Bazalgette started in a pet; but, after the first canter, she set herself to bewitch Mr. Talboys, just to keep her hand in; she flattered him up hill and down dale.  Lucy was silent and distraite.

“From that hill you look right down upon the sea,” said Mrs. Bazalgette; “what do you say?  It is only two miles farther.”

On they cantered, and, leaving the high road, dived into a green lane which led them, by a gradual ascent, to Mariner’s Folly on the summit of the cliff.  Mariner’s Folly looked at a distance like an enormous bush in the shape of a lion; but, when you came nearer, you saw it was three remarkably large blackthorn-trees planted together.  As they approached it at a walk, Mrs. Bazalgette told Mr. Talboys its legend.

“These trees were planted a hundred and fifty years ago by a retired buccaneer.”

“Aunt, now, it was only a lieutenant.”

“Be quiet, Lucy, and don’t spoil me; I call him a buccaneer.  Some say it is named his “Folly,” because, you must know, his ghost comes and sits here at times, and that is an absurd practice, shivering in the cold.  Others more learned say it comes from a Latin word ‘folio,’ or some such thing, that means a leaf; the mariner’s leafy screen.”  She then added with reckless levity, “I wonder whether we shall find Buckey on the other side, looking at the ships through a ghostly telescope—­ha! ha!—­ah! ah! help! mercy! forgive me!  Oh, dear, it is only Mr. Dodd in his jacket—­you frightened me so.  Oh! oh!  There—­I am ill.  Catch me, somebody;” and she dropped her whip, and, seeing David’s eye was on her, subsided backward with considerable courage and trustfulness, and for the second time contrived to be in her flirtee’s arms.