Good-by!" This adieu she uttered softly, and in a hesitating tone that
belied it. She started off, however, but much more slowly than she was
going before; and, as she went, she turned her head with infinite grace,
and kept looking askant down at the pavement two yards behind her:
moreover she went close to the wall, and left room at her side for
another to walk.

Christopher hesitated a moment; but the mute invitation, so arch yet
timid, so pretty, tender, sly, and womanly, was too much for him, as it
has generally proved for males, and the philosopher's foot was soon
in the very place to which the Simpleton with the mere tail of her eye
directed it.

They walked along, side by side, in silence, Staines agitated, gloomy,
confused, Rosa radiant and glowing, yet not knowing what to say for
herself, and wanting Christopher to begin. So they walked along without
a word.

Falcon followed them at some distance to see whether it was an admirer
or only an acquaintance. A lover he never dreamed of; she had shown such
evident pleasure in his company, and had received his visits alone so
constantly.

However, when the pair had got to the beach, and were walking slower and
slower, he felt a pang of rage and jealousy, turned on his heel with an
audible curse, and found Phoebe Dale a few yards behind him with a white
face and a peculiar look. He knew what the look meant; he had brought it
to that faithful face before to-day.

"You are better, Miss Lusignan."

"Better, Dr. Staines? I am health itself thanks to--hem!"

"Our estrangement has agreed with you?" This very bitterly.

"You know very well it is not that. Oh, please don't make me cry in the
streets."

This humble petition, or rather meek threat, led to another long
silence. It was continued till they had nearly reached the shore.
But, meantime, Rosa's furtive eyes scanned Christopher's face, and her
conscience smote her at the signs of suffering. She felt a desire to
beg his pardon with deep humility; but she suppressed that weakness. She
hung her head with a pretty, sheepish air, and asked him if he could not
think of something agreeable to say to one after deserting one so long.

"I am afraid not," said Christopher, bluntly. "I have an awkward habit
of speaking the truth; and some people can't bear that, not even when it
is spoken for their good."

"That depends on temper, and nerves, and things," said Rosa,
deprecatingly; then softly, "I could bear anything