" he forced himself to remark carelessly. Then, with a
friendly smile, "Forgive me for intruding myself. I came up here for
the view--"

"Yes, isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Winifred, evidently glad of this
diversion from personal topics. And they talked of the landscape, until
Warburton felt that he must take his leave. He mentioned where he was
staying, said that he hoped to spend a week or so at St. Jean de
Luz--and so got away, with an uneasy feeling that his behaviour had not
exactly been such as to recommend him to the timid young lady.

Rosamund had broken her journey somewhere, that was evident; perhaps in
Paris, where he knew she had friends. If she did not arrive this
evening, or to-morrow, her sister would at all events hear that she was
coming. But how was he to be informed of her arrival? How could he keep
an espial on the house? His situation was wretchedly unlike that he had
pictured to himself; instead of the romantic lover, carrying all before
him by the energy of passion, he had to play a plotting, almost
sneaking part, in constant fear of being taken for a presumptuous
interloper. Lucky that Rosamund had spoken of him to her sister. Well,
he must wait; though waiting was the worst torture for a man in his
mood.

He idled through the day on the seashore. Next morning he bathed, and
had a long walk, coming back by way of the Coppingers' house, but
passing quickly, and seeing no one. When he returned to the hotel, he
was told that a gentleman had called to see him, and had left his card
"Mr. Alfred Coppinger." Ho, ho! Winifred Elvan had mentioned their
meeting, and the people wished to be friendly. Excellent! This
afternoon he would present himself. Splendid. Ml his difficulties were
at an end. He saw himself once more in a gallant attitude.

The weather was very hot--unusually hot, said people at the hotel. As
he climbed the hill between three and four o'clock, the sun's ardour
reminded him of old times in the tropics. He passed along the shady
avenue, and the house door was opened to him by a Basque maid-servant,
who led him to the drawing-room. Here, in a dim light which filtered
through the interstices of shutters, sat the lady of the house alone.

"Is it Mr. Warburton?" she asked, rising feebly, and speaking in a
thin, fatigued, but kindly voice. "So kind of you to come. My husband
will be delighted to see you. How did you get up here on such a day?
Oh, the terrible heat!"

In a minute or two