n the wall, while Clare leaned
over it.

"Miss Bowring!" he said suddenly, to call her attention.

"Yes?" She did not look up; but to her own amazement she felt a queer
little thrill at the sound of his voice, for it had not its usual tone.

"Don't you think I had better go to Naples?" he asked.

Clare felt herself start a little, and she waited a moment before she
said anything in reply. She did not wish to betray any astonishment in
her voice. Johnstone had asked the question under a sudden impulse; but
a far wiser and more skilful man than himself could not have hit upon
one better calculated to precipitate intimacy. Clare, on her side, was
woman enough to know that she had a choice of answers, and to see that
the answer she should choose must make a difference hereafter. At the
same time, she had been surprised, and when she thought of it afterwards
it seemed to her that the question itself had been an impertinent one,
merely because it forced her to make an answer of some sort. She decided
in favour of making everything as clear as possible.

"Why?" she asked, without looking round.

At all events she would throw the burden of an elucidation upon him. He
was not afraid of taking it up.

"It's this," he answered. "I've rather thrust my acquaintance upon you,
and, if I stay here until my people come, I can't exactly change my seat
and go and sit at the other end of the table, nor pretend to be busy all
day, and never come out here and sit with you, after telling you
repeatedly that I have nothing on earth to do. Can I?"

"Why should you?"

"Because Mrs. Bowring doesn't like me."

Clare rose from her elbows and stood up, resting her hands upon the
wall, but still looking down at the lights on the beach.

"I assure you, you're quite mistaken," she answered, with quiet
emphasis. "My mother thinks you're very nice."

"Then why--" Johnstone checked himself, and crumbled little bits of
mortar from the rough wall with his thumbs.

"Why what?"

"I don't know whether I know you well enough to ask the question, Miss
Bowring."

"Let's assume that you do--for the sake of argument," said Clare, with a
short laugh, as she glanced at his face, dimly visible in the falling
darkness.

"Thanks awfully," he answered, but he did not laugh with her. "It isn't
exactly an easy thing to say, is it? Only--I couldn't help noticing--I
hope you'll forgive me, if you think I'm rude, won't you? I couldn't
help noticing that y