ung over her like a nightmare. Now the way to
Edward's shed lay through the village and down the cliff, and she knew
that he would never propose in the village.

It was very foolish of her, no doubt, thus to seek to postpone the evil
day, but the strongest-minded women have their weak points, and this was
one of Beatrice's. She hated the idea of this scene. She knew that when
it did come there would be a scene. Not that her resolution to refuse
the man had ever faltered. But it would be painful, and in the end it
must reach the ears of her father and Elizabeth that she had actually
rejected Mr. Owen Davies, and then what would her life be worth? She had
never suspected it, it had never entered into her mind to suspect, that,
though her father might be vexed enough, nothing on this earth would
more delight the heart of Elizabeth.

Presently, having fetched her hat, Beatrice, accompanied by her admirer,
bearing the Life of Darwin under his arm, started to walk down to the
beach. They went in silence, Beatrice just a little ahead. She ventured
some remark about the weather, but Owen Davies made no reply; he was
thinking, he wanted to say something, but he did not know how to say
it. They were at the head of the cliff now, and if he wished to speak he
must do so quickly.

"Miss Beatrice," he said in a somewhat constrained voice.

"Yes, Mr. Davies--oh, look at that seagull; it nearly knocked my hat
off."

But he was not to be put off with the seagull. "Miss Beatrice," he said
again, "are you going out walking next Sunday afternoon?"

"How can I tell, Mr. Davies? It may rain."

"But if it does not rain--please tell me. You generally do walk on the
beach on Sunday. Miss Beatrice, I want to speak to you. I hope you will
allow me, I do indeed."

Then suddenly she came to a decision. This kind of thing was
unendurable; it would be better to get it over. Turning round so
suddenly that Owen started, she said:

"If you wish to speak to me, Mr. Davies, I shall be in the Amphitheatre
opposite the Red Rocks, at four o'clock on Sunday afternoon, but I had
much rather that you did not come. I can say no more."

"I shall come," he answered doggedly, and they went down the steps to
the boat-shed.

"Oh, look, daddy," said Effie, "here comes the lady who was drownded
with you and a gentleman," and to Beatrice's great relief the child ran
forward and met them.

"Ah!" thought Geoffrey to himself, "that is the man Honoria said sh