rent that
there was going to be no lack of conversation. John Roberts, the
soda-water manufacturer, was a man who had a large enjoyment of life,
and liked to let people know it, though without the least ostentation
or pretence on his part. He took it for granted that all his
neighbours must necessarily be as keenly interested as himself in the
horse he had ridden that morning to the meet of the Southdown
foxhounds, and in the run from Henderley Wood through the Buxted covers
to Crowborough village. But then he was not at all bound up in either
foxhounds or harriers. He was as deeply interested as any one present
in the fancy-dress ball of the next week, and knew all the most
striking costumes that were being prepared. No matter what it
was,--old oak, the proposed importation of Chinese servants, port wine,
diamonds, black Wedgwood, hunters, furred driving coats, anything, in
short, that was sensible, and practical, and English, and conduced to
man's solid comfort and welfare in this far too speculative and
visionary world,--he talked about all such things with vigour,
precision, and delight. The substantial, healthy look of him was
something in a room. Joy radiated from him. When you heard him
describe how damsons could best be preserved, you could make sure that
there was a firm and healthy digestion; he was not one of the wretched
creatures who prolong their depressed existence by means of Angostura
bitters, and only wake up to an occasional flicker of life at the
instigation of sour champagne.

This talk of the joyous Roberts was chiefly addressed to Lady
Beresford, so it gave Frank King plenty of opportunity of making the
acquaintance of Nan's youngest sister. And she seemed anxious to be
very pleasant and kind to him. She wanted to know all about
Kingscourt, and what shooting they had had. She told him how they
passed the day at Brighton, and incidentally mentioned that they
generally walked on the pier in the morning.

'But you won't be going to-morrow, will you?' he said quickly.

'Why not?' she said.

'I am afraid the weather promises to be wild. The wind is south-west,
and freshening. Listen!'

There was a faint, intermittent, monotonous rumble outside, that told
of the breaking of the sea on the beach.

'That ground swell generally comes before a storm,' he said. 'I
thought it looked bad as I came along.'

'Why should you prophesy evil?' she said, petulantly.

'Oh, well, let us look at