any which could be taken in the
nature of an inquiry as to his prospects in life, merely because that
might possibly suggest to him that she was thinking of her daughter. And
when an Englishman is reticent in such matters, it is utterly impossible
to guess whether he be a millionaire or a penniless younger son.
Johnstone never spoke of money, in any connection. He never said that he
could afford one thing or could not afford another. He talked a good
deal of shooting and sport, but never hinted that his father had any
land. He never mentioned a family place in the country, nor anything of
the sort. He did not even tell the Bowrings to whom the yacht belonged
in which he had come, though he frequently alluded to things which had
been said and done by the party during a two months' cruise, chiefly in
eastern waters.

The Bowrings were quite as reticent about themselves, and each respected
the other's silence. Nevertheless they grew intimate, scarcely knowing
how the intimacy developed. That is to say, they very quickly became
accustomed, all three, to one another's society. If Johnstone was out of
the hotel first, of an afternoon, he moped about with his pipe in an
objectless way, as though he had lost something, until the Bowrings came
out. If he was writing letters and they appeared first, they talked in
detached phrases and looked often towards the door, until he came and
sat down beside them.

On the third evening, at dinner, he seemed very much amused at
something, and then, as though he could not keep the joke to himself, he
told his companions that he had received a telegram from his father, in
answer to one of his own, informing him that he had made a mistake of a
whole fortnight in the date, and must amuse himself as he pleased in the
interval.

"Just like me!" he observed. "I got the letter in Smyrna or somewhere--I
forget--and I managed to lose it before I had read it through. But I
thought I had the date all right. I'm glad, at all events. I was tired
of those good people, and it's ever so much pleasanter here."

Clare's gentle mouth hardened suddenly as she thought of Lady Fan.
Johnstone had been thoroughly tired of her. That was what he meant when
he spoke of "those good people."

"You get tired of people easily, don't you?" she inquired coldly.

"Oh no--not always," answered Johnstone.

By this time he was growing used to her sudden changes of manner and to
the occasional scornful speeches she made