lt for any man; the ungainliness with
which he returned Mrs. Cosgrove's greeting could not have been
surpassed, and probably would have been much the same even had he not,
of necessity, stood clutching at his felt hat.

The three talked for a few minutes. With Mrs. Cosgrove were two
persons, a younger woman and a man of about thirty--the latter a comely
and vivacious fellow, with rather long hair of the orange-tawny hue.
These looked at Monica, but Mrs. Cosgrove made no introduction.

'Come and see me, will you?' she said, mentioning her address. 'One
can't get much in the evenings; I shall be nearly always at home after
dinner, and we have music--of a kind.'

Monica boldly accepted the invitation, said she would be glad to come.
Then Mrs. Cosgrove took leave of them, and walked landwards with her
companions.

Widdowson stood gazing at the sea. There was no misreading his
countenance. When Monica had remarked it, she pressed her lips
together, and waited for what he would say or do. He said nothing, but
presently turned his back upon the waves and began to walk on. Neither
spoke until they were in the shelter of the streets; then Widdowson
asked suddenly,--

'Who _is_ that person?'

'I only know her name, and that she goes to Miss Barfoot's.'

'It's a most extraordinary thing,' he exclaimed in high irritation.
'There's no getting out of the way of those people.'

Monica also was angry; her cheeks, reddened by the wind, grew hotter.

'It's still more extraordinary that you should object so to them.'

'Whether or no--I _do_ object, and I had rather you didn't go to see
that woman.'

'You are unreasonable,' Monica answered sharply. 'Certainly I shall go
and see her.'

'I forbid you to do so! If you go, it will be in defiance of my wish.'

'Then I am obliged to defy your wish. I shall certainly go.'

His face was frightfully distorted. Had they been in a lonely spot,
Monica would have felt afraid of him. She moved hurriedly away in the
direction of their lodgings, and for a few paces he followed; then he
checked himself, turned round about, took an opposite way.

With strides of rage he went along by the quay, past the hotels and the
smaller houses that follow, on to St. Sampson. The wind, again
preparing for a tempestuous night, beat and shook and at moments all
but stopped him; he set his teeth like a madman, and raged on. Past the
granite quarries at Bordeaux Harbour, then towards the wild north
extrem