entleman at four o'clock, for at that hour Mr.
Lusignan was always out, and his daughter always at home.

She was at home at that hour because she took her long walks in the
morning. While her new admirer was in bed, or dressing, or breakfasting,
she was springing along the road with all the elasticity of youth, and
health, and native vigor, braced by daily exercise.

Twenty-one of these walks did she take, with no other result than health
and appetite; but the twenty-second was more fertile--extremely fertile.
Starting later than usual, she passed through Gravesend while Reginald
Falcon was smoking at his front window. He saw her, and instantly doffed
his dressing-gown and donned his coat to follow her. He was madly in
love with her, and being a man who had learned to shoot pigeons and
opportunities flying, he instantly resolved to join her in her walk, get
her clear of the town, by the sea-beach, where beauty melts, and propose
to her. Yes, marriage had not been hitherto his habit, but this girl was
peerless: he was pledged by honor and gratitude to Phoebe Dale; but hang
all that now. "No man should marry one woman when he loves another; it
is dishonorable." He got into the street and followed her as fast as he
could without running.

It was not so easy to catch her. Ladies are not built for running; but
a fine, tall, symmetrical girl who has practised walking fast can cover
the ground wonderfully in walking--if she chooses. It was a sight to see
how Rosa Lusignan squared her shoulders and stepped out from the
waist like a Canadian girl skating, while her elastic foot slapped the
pavement as she spanked along.

She had nearly cleared the town before Falcon came up with her.

He was hardly ten yards from her when an unexpected incident occurred.
She whisked round the corner of Bird Street, and ran plump against
Christopher Staines; in fact, she darted into his arms, and her face
almost touched the breast she had wounded so deeply.

CHAPTER IV.

Rosa cried "Oh!" and put up her hands to her face in lovely confusion,
coloring like a peony.

"I beg your pardon," said Christopher, stiffly, but in a voice that
trembled.

"No," said Rosa, "it was I ran against you. I walk so fast now. Hope I
did not hurt you."

"Hurt me?"

"Well, then, frighten you?"

No answer.

"Oh, please don't quarrel with me in the STREET," said Rosa, cunningly
implying that he was the quarrelsome one. "I am going on the beach.