kin with a gesture of impatience, and obviously
restraining an impulse to press his guest for a declaration of his
intentions.

"Come and join the ladies," he said curtly.

An uncomfortable half-hour had followed in the drawing-room, the air
vibrant with an electric tension which all were conscious of, and, as is
customary on such occasions, increased by their fatuous efforts to
relieve it. Violet talked brilliantly--more brilliantly than usual,
perhaps--of things that did not matter, watching her father and lover
with a pained surprise which her brave efforts could not wholly conceal.
Aunt Sarah seized such opportunities as were offered to her of being
openly rude to every one in turn, nodding her priceless lace cap to
emphasize her points, stabbing her lean fingers at the successive
victims of her caustic tongue, and galvanizing her mummy-like face into
grimaces that would have terrified strangers.

But, so far as Leslie was concerned, it was reserved for the old lady to
save the situation. When she got up to go she followed Mr. Maynard and
Violet into the hall to speed the parting guest, winding up a stilted
evening with the request that Mr. Chermside would take her and her
great-niece on what she called "the water" the next day. She and Violet
would motor out to the Ottermouth beach, and meet him there at 11.30 if
"the elements were propitious."

Leslie had, of course, consented, though he had to conceal a certain
amount of reluctance in doing so. After Mr. Maynard's plain speech he
was not sure if it was not his duty to refrain from seeing Violet again.
At any rate the time had come when he must quit the fool's paradise in
which he had been living since the scene in the rose-garden, and
seriously consider his position. But Miss Dymmock's request was a
command, and it had this merit--that whatever course he decided on he
would have one more hour in the company of his beloved.

Now, as he went to keep the appointment, he was no nearer a solution of
his dilemma in spite of anxious deliberation through the long hours of a
sleepless night. He was prepared to suffer the pain of giving Violet up,
but from her own sweet confession he knew that in vanishing from her
life he would inflict upon her a pain equal to his own. He shrank from
dealing the cruel blow. And, again, the necessity of guarding her
against the plot which he was all too sure was hatching in Nugent's
brain was a strong inducement to remain on the spot