ear. Humiliation he dreaded.

When eight o'clock came, he was leaning over the end of the pier, at
the appointed spot, still busy in thought. There came a touch on his
arm.

"Well, are you thinking how you can make a book out of my story?"

The touch, the voice, the smile,--how all his sophistry was swept away
in a rush of tenderness and delight!

"I must wait for the end of it," he returned, holding out his hand,
which she did not take.

"The end?--Oh, you must invent one. Ends in real life are so
commonplace and uninteresting."

"Commonplace or not," said Waymark, with some lack of firmness in his
voice, "the end of your story should not be an unhappy one, if I had
the disposing of it. And I might have--but for one thing."

"What's that?" she asked, with sudden interest.

"My miserable poverty. If I only had money--money"--

"Money!" she exclaimed, turning away almost angrily. Then she added,
with the coldness which she did not often use, but which, when she did,
chilled and checked him--"I don't understand you."

He pointed with a bitter smile down to the sands.

"Look at that gold of the sunset in the pools the tide has left. It is
the most glorious colour in nature, but it makes me miserable by
reminding me of the metal it takes its name from."

She looked at him with eyes which had in them a strange wonder, sad at
first, then full of scorn, of indignation. And then she laughed,
drawing herself away from him. The laugh irritated him. He experienced
a terrible revulsion of feeling, from the warmth and passion which had
possessed him, to that humiliation, which he could not bear.

And just now a number of people came and took their stands close by, in
a gossiping group. Ida had half turned away, and was looking at the
golden pools. He tried to say something, but his tongue was dry, and
the word would not come. Presently, she faced him again, and said, in
very much her ordinary tone--

"I was going to tell you that I have just had news from London, which
makes it necessary for me to go back to-morrow. I shall have to take an
early train."

"This is because I have offended you," Waymark said, moving nearer to
her. "You had no thought of going before that."

"I am not surprised that you refuse to believe me," returned Ida,
smiling very faintly. "Still, it is the truth. And now I must go in
again;--I am very tired."

"No," he exclaimed as she moved away, "you must not go in till--till
you have forgo