. Haven't you heard of
the Best-Bed Stone Company?'

'I should think so! They tried to ruin my father by getting away his
trade--or, at least, the founder of the company did--old Bencomb.'

'He's my father!'

'Indeed. I am sorry I should have spoken so disrespectfully of him, for
I never knew him personally. After making over his large business to the
company, he retired, I believe, to London?'

'Yes. Our house, or rather his, not mine, is at South Kensington. We
have lived there for years. But we have been tenants of Sylvania Castle,
on the island here, this season. We took it for a month or two of the
owner, who is away.'

'Then I have been staying quite near you, Miss Bencomb. My father's is a
comparatively humble residence hard by.'

'But he could afford a much bigger one if he chose.'

'You have heard so? I don't know. He doesn't tell me much of his
affairs.'

'My father,' she burst out suddenly, 'is always scolding me for my
extravagance! And he has been doing it to-day more than ever. He said
I go shopping in town to simply a diabolical extent, and exceed my
allowance!'

'Was that this evening?'

'Yes. And then it reached such a storm of passion between us that
I pretended to retire to my room for the rest of the evening, but I
slipped out; and I am never going back home again.'

'What will you do?'

'I shall go first to my aunt in London; and if she won't have me, I'll
work for a living. I have left my father for ever! What I should have
done if I had not met you I cannot tell--I must have walked all the way
to London, I suppose. Now I shall take the train as soon as I reach the
mainland.'

'If you ever do in this hurricane.'

'I must sit here till it stops.'

And there on the nets they sat. Pierston knew of old Bencomb as his
father's bitterest enemy, who had made a great fortune by swallowing up
the small stone-merchants, but had found Jocelyn's sire a trifle too big
to digest--the latter being, in fact, the chief rival of the Best-Bed
Company to that day. Jocelyn thought it strange that he should be
thrown by fate into a position to play the son of the Montagues to this
daughter of the Capulets.

As they talked there was a mutual instinct to drop their voices, and
on this account the roar of the storm necessitated their drawing quite
close together. Something tender came into their tones as quarter-hour
after quarter-hour went on, and they forgot the lapse of time. It was
quite late whe