incident that must have happened sometime and somewhere.

'Yes,' said Nan at once, 'and there is another like that that the
collier-boats can't stand. If you call out to a collier, "_There's a
rat in your chains_" he'd drive his schooner ashore to get after you.'

'I suppose you have tried,' said her mother, with calm dignity.

'I believe Nan spends most of her time,' said the Beauty, 'in making
mud-pies with the boys in Shoreham Harbour.'

'Never you mind, Nan,' her brother said to encourage her. 'Next time
we go to Newhaven, you'll call out to the colliers, "_There's a rat in
your chains_," and I'll stop behind a wall and watch them beating you.'

All during that dinner Nan was both amused and amusing, until a
trifling little incident occurred. She and Frank King on the other
side of the table had almost monopolised the conversation, although
quite unwittingly; and everybody seemed to regard this as a matter of
course. Now it happened that Madge, who sat next her betrothed, made
some slight remark to him. Perhaps he did not hear. At all events, he
did not answer, but addressed Nan instead, with reference to something
she had just been saying about lifeboats. Instantly, a hurt expression
came over Madge's face, and as instantly Nan saw it. From that moment
she grew more reserved. She avoided addressing herself directly to
Captain Frank King. She devoted herself chiefly to her mother; and
when, at the end of dinner, they adjourned in a body to the
billiard-room (with the happy indifference of youth) she followed Lady
Beresford up to the drawing-room and would herself make tea for her.

'Do you know, Nan,' she said, quite plainly, 'that whenever you are in
the room Frank pays no attention to any one else?'

'I thought he was doing his best to amuse everybody at dinner,' Nan
said--though she did not raise her eyes. 'He told some very good
stories.'

'Yes, to you,' Madge insisted. Then she added, 'You know I like it. I
hope he will always be good friends with all the family: for you see,
Nan, it will be lonely for me at Kingscourt for a while, and of course
I should like to have somebody from Brighton always in the house. And
I know he admires you very much. He's always talking about your
character, and your disposition, and your temperament, as if he had
been studying you like a doctor. I suppose I've got no character, or
he would talk about that sometimes. I don't understand it--that
talking abou