Creddle kindly. "I ran along to tell
you now, for fear you should come across Wilson or your uncle before
you knew. He promised on his honour to have naught no more to do with
you."

"Did he?" said Caroline, her blazing eyes very near to her aunt's in
that tiny place. "Then he is a day too late for the fair--and uncle
too. You may tell uncle that. I haven't seen Mr. Wilson for ten days
or more, and I'll never enter uncle's house again as long as I live."

"You mustn't talk like that, honey," said Mrs. Creddle. "Uncle took it
to heart because he thinks such a lot of you. But you'll soon find
some nice young feller in your own station of life next time: don't go
hankering after a gentleman, my dear. You would never get one of the
best sort, and the other sort's no good to you." She sighed. "But you
always had high notions, Carrie, though I don't know where you get them
from. I suppose they're going about." With that Mrs. Creddle opened
the little door of the pay-box, and let in a blast of air that nearly
blew her hat from her head; then she hurried down the wind-swept road
in order to get her husband's dinner ready before that already
irritated breadwinner should return.

But Caroline sat down again on her chair and threw open the little
window so that the salt air could blow across her face. She did not
want to cry, because at any minute some one might want to come through
the barrier; but after a minute or two she had no fear of that. She
began to burn so with outraged pride that she could not yet feel the
deeper ache of wounded love. Over and over again the words formed of
themselves on the surface of the whirling storm in her mind: "I aren't
_going_ to give in! I aren't _going_ to be pitied!"

Then a member of the promenade band came along, fighting with the gale,
obliged to fetch some music which he had left in the hall the night
before. "Wild morning! Can't say I'm sorry we close to-morrow," he
said.

Caroline answered him, but he still lingered, though he had never taken
any particular notice of her before, and did not know why he felt
inclined to stop to-day. He suddenly felt that Caroline was
interesting, though he was not actually aware of that odd shining of
the spirit through the flesh--like a lamp in an alabaster vase--which
was characteristic of Caroline in moments of supreme, passionate
emotion. All he thought was, that there was something unusual about
the girl, and that he was s