each day.

And not with Nance only!

Madame Julie, very weary of herself, and Tom, and her surroundings, and
Sark, and life in general as understood in Sark, very soon became
conscious of the regular visits next door of the best-looking young man
she had yet seen in the Island, and was filled with curiosity concerning
him.

"He's after that slip of a Nance," she said to herself. "And he has his
own share of good looks, has that young man."--And then came the
inevitable, "Mon Dieu, but I wish Tom had been made like that!"

To get a better view of him--and perhaps not without a vague idea of
ulterior interest and amusement for herself--anything to add a dash of
colour to the prevailing greyness of her surroundings--she was leaning
on the gate next day when he came striding up to his dinner, and gave
him, "Bon jour, m'sieur!" with much heartiness and the full benefit of
her black eyes and white teeth.

"'Jour, madame!" and he whipped off his hat and passed on into the
house.

"That was Madame Tom, I suppose, who was leaning over the gate, as I
came in," he said, as they ate.

"I expect so," said Mrs. Hamon. "She generally seems to have time on her
hands."

"When Tom's not there," snapped Grannie. "Got her hands full enough when
he is."

"I should imagine Tom would not be too easy to get on with at times.
Maybe he'll settle down now he's married."

"Doesn't sound like settling down sometimes," chirped the old lady
again.

"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that. She doesn't look bad-tempered."

"Tom's got more'n enough for the two of them."

"I'm afraid she finds it a change from what she's been accustomed to,"
said Mrs. Hamon quietly. "She came in once or twice, but her talk is of
things that don't interest us, and ours is of things that don't interest
her, so we can't get as friendly as we would like to be."

"And Tom?"

"Tom considers us all robbers, as he always has done. He gives us his
blackest face whenever he sees any of us."

"That's unpleasant, seeing you're such close neighbours."

"Yes, it's unpleasant, but we can't help it. It's just Tom. How is your
work getting on?"

"Not as I would wish," said Gard, with a gloomy wag of the head. "Your
Sark men are difficult--very difficult, and the others who ought to know
better, and who do know better"--with more than a touch of warmth--"go
on as though I was a slave-driver."

"Sark men are hard to drive," said Mrs. Hamon sympathetically.

"They know perf