you better go
and shoot something?"

He did not notice her suggestion.

"Miss Briscoe, I do not like the way in which we are talking. I----"

"The remedy is obvious," she interrupted haughtily.

"Probably the fault is mine," he continued, calmly ignoring her speech.
"I have not been used to talking to girls much. My friends have all been
men, and I daresay that I have got into the habit, therefore, of
expressing myself clumsily. But what I want to say to you, if you will
give me the opportunity, is this: The first few evenings after your
arrival here were very pleasant ones indeed--for me. You talked to me,
and I found more pleasure in our conversation than I have ever done in
anything else in my life. There, that is being frank, is it not? I hoped
that we might be friends; indeed, it seemed to me that we were certainly
going to be so. I do not wish to offend you by any apparent
exaggeration, but I must say that it made a considerable difference to
my interest in life. That is putting it mildly. Where you have found the
time to read and think so much, of course, I cannot tell. It is not my
business. Only, I know that it makes your companionship very pleasant
for me. You see I am trying to be as matter-of-fact as possible--do
please give me credit for that. I just want to know why you have altered
your manner to me; why we cannot be friends? Will you tell me, please,
Miss Briscoe?"

His pleading tone had a manly musical ring in it which was very pleasant
to listen to, and in his anxiety for her answer he had stooped down
until his dark handsome head nearly touched hers. She drew away
impatiently.

"That is impossible," she said coldly.

"And why?"

"If for no other reason, surely the Countess of St. Maurice's governess
is no suitable friend for Lord Lumley."

He colored under the intense hauteur of her words.

"You will forgive my saying that that is the first remark which I have
heard from you, Miss Briscoe, which has not been in good taste.
Good-morning. Good-bye, Gracie."

He turned abruptly along a private path through the pine wood.
Margharita and her charge went on up to the house alone.

CHAPTER XXI

A LAND THAT IS LONELIER THAN RUIN

Late in the afternoon of the same day they met again, and this time
really by accident. Since morning a storm had been blowing, but just
before sunset the wind and rain had dropped, and an angry sun glared out
in its last moments upon the troubled sea. Lor