d one too. What do you think o' that girl now, Harry--she's
fine--what?"

He produced from under the pillow a photograph, yellow with age, of a
dancer--jet-black hair and black eyes, her body balanced on one leg,
her hands on her hips. "Anonita Sendella--a devilish fine woman, by
gad--sixty years ago that was--and Tom Buckley and I were in the
running. He had the money and I had the looks, although you wouldn't
think it now. She liked me until she got tired of me and she died o'
drink--not many like that nowadays." He gazed at the photograph whilst
his eyes twinkled. "Legs--by Heaven! what legs!" He chuckled.
"Wouldn't do for Clare to see that; she was shaking my pillows this
mornin' and I was in a deuce of a fright--thought the thing would
tumble out."

He lay back on his pillows thinking, and Harry stared out of the
window. The end would come in a month or two--perhaps sooner; and
then, what would happen? He would take his place as head of the
family. He laughed to himself--head of the family! when Clare and
Garrett and Robin all hated him? Head of the family!

The sky was grey and the sea flecked with white horses. It was
shifting colours to-day like a mother-of-pearl shell--a great band of
dark grey on the horizon, and then a soft carpet of green turning to
grey again by the shore. The grey hoofs [Transcriber's note: roofs?]
of the Cove crowded down to the edge of the land, seeming to lean a
little forward, as though listening to what the sea had to say; the
sun, breaking mistily through the clouds, was a round ball of dull
gold--a line of breakwater, far in the distance, seemed ever about to
advance down the stretch of sea to the shore, as though it would hurl
itself on the cluster of brown sails in the little bay, huddling there
for protection. Head of the House! What was the use, when the House
didn't want him?

His father was watching him and seemed to have read his thoughts.
"You'll take my place, Harry?" he said. "They won't like it, you know.
It was partly my fault. I sent you away and you grew up away, and
they've always been here. I've been wanting you to come back all this
time, and it wasn't because I was angry that I didn't ask you--but it
was better for you. You don't see it yet; you came back thinking
they'd welcome you and be glad to see you, and you're a bit hurt that
they haven't. They've been hard to you, all of 'em--your boy as well.
I've known, right enough. But it cuts b