marshes. An evening wind,
sharp with brine, was blowing in from the ocean, stirring the surface of
the long creeks into silent ripples, and bending landwards the thin
streaks of white smoke rising amongst the red-tiled roofs of the
village. I felt the delicate sting of it upon my cheeks. Lady Angela
half closed her eyes as she turned her face seawards.

"I came for this," she murmured. "There is nothing like it anywhere
else."

We stood there in silence for several long minutes. Then she turned to
me with a little sigh.

"I am content," she said. "Will you come up and dine with us to-night?
Blenavon will be there, you know." I hesitated.

"I am afraid it is rather a bother to you to leave your work," she
continued, "but I am not offering you idle hospitality. I really want
you to come."

"In that case," I answered, "of course I shall be delighted."

She pointed to Braster Grange away on the other side of the village. I
noticed for the first time that it was all lit up.

"Have you heard anything of our new neighbours?" she asked.

"Only their names," I answered. "I did not even know that they had
arrived."

"There is only a woman, I believe," she said. "I have met her abroad,
and I dislike her--greatly. I hear that my brother spends most of his
time with her, and that he has dined there the last three nights. It is
not safe or wise of him, for many reasons. I want to stop it. That is
why I have asked you to come to us."

"It is quite sufficient," I told her. "If you want me for any reason I
will come. I am two days ahead of my work."

We threaded our way amongst the creeks. All the time the salt wind blew
upon us, and the smell of fresh seaweed seemed to fill the air with
ozone. Just as we came in sight of the road we heard the thunder of
hoofs behind. We turned around. It was Blenavon, riding side by side
with a lady who was a stranger to me. Her figure was slim but elegant.
I caught a glimpse of her face as they flashed by, and it puzzled me.
Her hair was almost straw coloured, her complexion was negative, her
features were certainly not good. Yet there was something about her
attractive, something which set me guessing at once as to the colour of
her eyes, the quality of her voice, if she should speak. Blenavon
reined in his horse.

"So you have turned up, Angela," he remarked, looking at her a little
nervously. "You remember Mrs. Smith-Lessing, don't you--down at
Bordighera, you know?"

Angela shoo