constant
watchfulness was unlike her mother, un-English, and almost unnatural.
When they were all seated together on the terrace, if Mrs. Bowring
wished to go indoors to write a letter or to get something she invented
some excuse for making her daughter go with her, and stay with her till
she came out again. A French or Italian mother could not have been more
particular or careful, but a French or Italian girl would have been
accustomed to such treatment, and would not have seen anything unusual
in it. But Mrs. Bowring had never acted in such a way before now, and it
irritated the young girl extremely. She felt that she was being treated
like a child, and that Johnstone must see it and think it ridiculous. At
last Clare made an attempt at resistance, out of sheer contrariety.

"I don't want to write letters!" she answered impatiently. "I wrote two
yesterday. It is hot indoors, and I would much rather stay here!"

Mrs. Bowring went as far as the parapet, and looked down at the sea for
a moment. Then she came back and sat down again.

"It's quite true," she said. "It is hot indoors. I don't think I shall
write, after all."

Brook Johnstone could not help smiling a little, though he turned away
his face to hide his amusement. It was so perfectly evident that Mrs.
Bowring was determined not to leave Clare alone with him that he must
have been blind not to see it. Clare saw the smile, and was angry. She
was nineteen years old, she had been out in the world, the terrace was a
public place, Johnstone was a gentleman, and the whole thing was absurd.
She took up her work and closed her lips tightly.

Johnstone felt the awkwardness, rose suddenly, and said he would go for
a walk. Clare raised her eyes and nodded as he lifted his hat. He was
still smiling, and her resentment deepened. A moment later, mother and
daughter were alone. Clare did not lay down her work, nor look up when
she spoke.

"Really, mother, it's too absurd!" she exclaimed, and a little colour
came to her cheeks.

"What is absurd, my dear?" asked Mrs. Bowring, affecting not to
understand.

"Your abject fear of leaving me for five minutes with Mr. Johnstone. I'm
not a baby. He was laughing. I was positively ashamed! What do you
suppose could have happened, if you had gone in and written your letters
and left us quietly here? And it happens every day, you know! If you
want a glass of water, I have to go in with you."

"My dear! What an exaggeration!"