"Don't you like coffee, sir?" asked Mrs. Kettering.

He began to feel a little bit persecuted. He did not hesitate to reply
in the negative, since the question was put from Mrs. Kettering's
point of view and the answer had only to apply to her conception of
the beverage.

At length Cleo said she was going to take him for a stroll, and he
willingly fell in with the idea. But they did not go far, taking
possession of a seat as soon as they arrived on the sea-front. They
seemed to have nothing to say to each other. Cleo appeared lost in
thought, and he, after gazing idly at the few promenaders and the
children playing on the shingle and at the white cliffs of France
gleaming across the straits, relapsed into a half reverie. He had
somewhat of a sense of physical relief at being able to breathe here
at his ease; of temporary respite and security from being hunted by
creditors. But he was intensely miserable all the same, the one
immediate gleam of light being the hope of a letter from Helen.

As yet the Kettering family was a new experience to him, and though
the stiff gentility and aggressive hospitality so far exhibited had
made him somewhat uncomfortable, his judgment of these people was
favourable enough. Still, he was possessed of the idea that he was not
going to stay in that house more than a few days. Not that he had the
least conception of what else he was going to do, but events had been
following each other in such quick succession that he could not
believe in a cessation of them. The last two days, in particular, had
seemed very crowded. Yesterday all those dramatic events in the
theatre--though not on its stage; to-day their departure from London
and their incursion into the reality of that poetic nebulousness from
which Cleo had originally emerged.

He was glad that Kettering had not addressed to him any personal
questions, for he wished to tell neither truth nor falsehood about
himself. The anticipation of the topic arising was not an agreeable
one, and it was likewise unpleasant to dwell upon the possibility of
embarrassment arising from Cleo's habit of embellishment. He wondered
what her schemes were, though he could not take them seriously. And
this train of thought ultimately brought back to him the fear that
perhaps after all pressure might be brought to bear on him to make him
avail himself of his father's purse. The thought of his father gave
him now--as it had given him throughout all this time o