comely. Such sorrows as she had were not for
him to share--not even for him to know of. The burden of them was for
her alone.

* * * * *

And, meanwhile, Lord Lumley, her only son, was leaning against the trunk
of a pine tree on the brow of the cliff, with something very much like a
frown upon his forehead; and a little distance away, Margharita was
calmly reading to Gracie out of a French picture book, brought, as Lord
Lumley had been quick to surmise, chiefly with a view of excluding him
from their company. It was quite true, as his father had remarked, that
he had received very little encouragement from Margharita; in fact, he
had been told somewhat plainly, a few minutes ago, that his presence was
interfering with the lesson. "As if there was any necessity to bring
lesson books out of doors," he had muttered _sotto voce_, withdrawing
himself a few yards, however, and relapsing into an irritated silence.
The book had been brought on his account altogether. There was no doubt
whatever about that, and, manlike, he felt aggrieved. Of course he ought
to have gone away at once, and he had started with that intention, but
the sound of Margharita's voice arrested him before he had gone half a
dozen yards. After all, it would be pleasanter to stay and listen.

So he stood there, crumpling up a sprig of heather in his hand, and
ostensibly waiting for a shot at a sea gull. He was quite aware that no
sea gull was likely to rise anywhere near, and that his gun was
unloaded, but the excuse was the only one that had occurred to him at a
minute's notice. His real object in remaining was that he might walk
home with Margharita when the lesson was over.

The Earl of St. Maurice had been a handsome man in his youth, but his
son was handsomer. To the fine Saxon physique of the St. Maurices, in
Lord Lumley had been added something of the more delicate beauty of his
mother. He had the long limbs and broad shoulders of which a gallery
full of St. Maurices boasted, but his features were more delicately
formed, and his forehead was higher and more intellectual than any of
them.

Yet it had not in any way spoiled him. He had not an atom of conceit or
pride of any sort. At college, where he had graduated early, he
presented the rare combination of a nobleman's son, a moderate athlete,
and a hard reading man. His had been the intellectual set of the whole
university, and having the rare gift of attaining an