re than that, seeing that she could economise such
substantial sums. He was saved; the sun would rise for him, literally
and in metaphor.

A rainy morning saw him at Liverpool Street. The squalid roofs of
north-east London dripped miserably under a leaden sky. Not till the
train reached the borders of Suffolk did a glint of sun fall upon
meadow and stream; thence onwards the heavens brightened; the risen
clouds gleamed above a shining shore. Lashmar did not love this part of
England, and he wondered why Mrs. Woolstan had chosen such a retreat,
but in the lightness of his heart he saw only pleasant things. Arrived
at Yarmouth, he jumped into a cab, and was driven along the dull, flat
road which leads to Gorleston. Odour of the brine made amends for miles
of lodgings, for breaks laden with boisterous trippers, for tram cars
and piano-organs. Here at length was Sunrise Terrace, a little row of
plain houses on the top of the cliff, with sea-horizon vast before it,
and soft green meadow-land far as one could see behind. Bidding his
driver wait, Lashmar knocked at the door, and stood tremulous. It was
half-past twelve; Iris might or might not have returned from her
morning walk; he prepared for a brief disappointment. But worse awaited
him. Mrs. Woolstan, he learnt, would not be at home for the mid-day
meal; she was with friends who had a house at Gorleston.

"Where is the house?" he asked, impatiently, stamping as if his feet
were cold.

The woman pointed his way.

"Who are the people? What is their name?"

He heard it, but it conveyed nothing to him. After a moment's
reflection, he decided to go to the hotel, and there write a note.
Whilst he was having lunch, the reply came, a dry missive, saying that,
if he would call at three o'clock, Mrs. Woolstan would have much
pleasure in presenting him to her friends the Barkers, with whom she
was spending the day.

Lashmar fumed, but obeyed the invitation. In a garden on the edge of
the cliff, he found half a dozen persons; an elderly man who looked
like a retired tradesman, his wife, of suitable appearance, their son,
their two daughters, and Iris Woolstan. Loud and mirthful talk was
going on; his arrival interrupted it only for a moment.

"So glad to see you!" was Mrs. Woolstan's friendly, but not cordial,
greeting. "I didn't know you ever came to the east coast."

Introductions were carelessly made; he seated himself on a camp-stool
by one of the young ladies, and drop