ce. We
abstain from enlargeing on the charms of her person. She has resources,
which representatives of a rival creed would plot to secure.

'Skepsey, you have your quarters at the house of Miss Radnor's
relatives?' said Mr. Barmby, as they emerged from tunnelled chalk.

'Mention, that I think of calling in the course of the day.'

A biscuit had been their breakfast without a name.

They parted at the station, roused by the smell of salt to bestow a
more legitimate title on the day's restorative beginning. Down the
hill, along by the shops, and Skepsey, in sight of Miss Nesta's terrace,
considered it still an early hour for a visitor; so, to have the sea
about him, he paid pier-money, and hurried against the briny wings of
a South-wester; green waves, curls of foam, flecks of silver, under
low-flying grey-dark cloud-curtains shaken to a rift, where at one
shot the sun had a line of Nereids nodding, laughing, sparkling to him.
Skepsey enjoyed it, at the back of thoughts military and naval. Visible
sea, this girdle of Britain, inspired him to exultations in reverence.
He wished Mr. Durance could behold it now and have such a breastful.
He was wishing he knew a song of Britain and sea, rather fancying Mr.
Durance to be in some way a bar to patriotic poetical recollection, when
he saw his Captain Dartrey mounting steps out of an iron anatomy of the
pier, and looking like a razor off a strap.

'Why, sir!' cried Skepsey.

'Just a plunge and a dozen strokes,' Dartrey said; 'and you'll come to
my hotel and give me ten minutes of the "recreation"; and if you don't
come willingly, I shall insult your country.'

'Ah! I wish Mr. Durance were here,' Skepsey rejoined.

'It would upset his bumboat of epigrams. He rises at ten o'clock to
a queasy breakfast by candlelight, and proceeds to composition. His
picture of the country is a portrait of himself by the artist.'

'But, sir, Captain Dartrey, you don't think as Mr. Durance does of
England!'

'There are lots to flatter her, Skepsey! A drilling can't do her harm.
You're down to see Miss Nesta. Ladies don't receive quite so early.
And have you breakfasted? Come on with me quick.' Dartrey led him on,
saying: 'You have an eye at my stick. It was a legacy to me, by word of
mouth, from a seaman of a ship I sailed in, who thought I had done him a
service; and he died after all. He fell overboard drunk. He perished
of the villain stuff. One of his messmates handed me the stick in