ey say were lost from the Spanish Armada.

While we were walking, who should join us but Dick Burden, back from
Scotland! It appears that he arrived at Tintagel last night, only a
little while after Sir Lionel and I had left in the car. He expected to
be earlier, but he took cross-country trains which looked promising on
time-tables, and missed connection. I can't be thankful enough he didn't
arrive before we started, instead of after, for, of course, Sir Lionel
would have had to ask him to come with us, and that would have spoiled
everything. There would have been no beautiful "memory island" in my
sea! Do you know, I had almost forgotten Dick for two or three days? He
seemed to have gone out of my life, as if he had never been in, and it
was quite a mental shock to meet him on the quay at Bideford. He didn't
seem to be in the picture at all, whereas Sir Lionel is always in it,
whatever or whenever it may be.

We (Sir Lionel and I) asked politely for his mother's health, and he
answered, apparently without thinking, "Mother?--oh, she's all right."
Then he evidently remembered that he'd been sent for because she was
ill, and had the grace to look ashamed of his hard-heartedness. He
explained that when he arrived, he found her already better, though
nervous, and that she was "practically cured." But I saw him and his
aunt exchange a look. I wonder if it meant that the mother has any weird
sort of disease--contagious, perhaps? I do hope it isn't anything I
haven't had. It would be so awkward to come down with it now; though the
sight of Dick with mumps, for instance, would repay me for a good deal.

Mrs. Senter's room at Bideford adjoined mine, with a (locked) door
between; and that night, for half an hour after I'd gone to bed I heard
a murmur of voices, hers and Dick's. They seemed to be tremendously in
earnest about something. Luckily, I couldn't hear a word they said;
otherwise I should have had the bother of stopping my ears; but I
couldn't help knowing that there was a heated argument, Aunt Gwen
protesting, Nephew Dick insisting; and, after stress and storm, a final
understanding arrived at which apparently satisfied both.

Such a splendid road it was, going out of Bideford, with views of sea
and river, the distant shore levels indigo, and a fiery golden light,
like spilt sherry, on the livid green of the salt-paled grass. The sails
of fishing boats from Instow rose from dark, ruffled waters, white as
lily petals