n.

"I am sorry. Don't be more wretched than you can help!" says Joyce, with
a smile wonderfully unconcerned. "After a dance I want to walk to clear
my brain, and Mr. Dysart has been good enough to say he will accompany
me."

"Is he accompanying you?" says Beauclerk, with an unpardonable
supercilious glance around him as if in search of the absent Dysart.

"You mustn't think him a laggard at his post," says Miss Kavanagh, still
smiling, but now in a little provoking way that seems to jest at his
pretended suspicion of Dysart's constancy and dissolve it into the
thinnest of thin air. "He was here just now, but I sent him to loose the
dogs. I like to have them with me, and Lady Baltimore is pleased when
they get a run."

"Isabel is always so sympathetic," says he, with a quite new and
delightful rush of sympathy toward Isabel. "I suppose," glancing at
Joyce keenly, "you would not care for an additional escort? The
dogs--and Dysart--will be sufficient?"

"Mr. Dysart and the dogs will be," says she. "Ah! Here he comes," as
Dysart appears at the open doorway, a little pack of terriers at his
heels. "What a time you've been!" cries she, moving quickly to him. "I
thought you would never come. Good-bye, Lady Swansdown; good-bye,"
glancing casually at Beauclerk. "Keep one teapot for us if you can!"

She trips lightly up the avenue at Dysart's side, leaving Beauclerk in a
rather curious frame of mind.

"Yes, she has heard something!" That is his first thought. How to
counteract the probable influence of that "something" is the second. A
little dwelling upon causes and effects shows him the way. For an effect
there is often an antidote!

* * * * *

"Delicious indeed!" says Dysart, in answer to her remark. His answer is,
however, a little _distrait_. His determination of last night to bring
her here, and compel her to listen to the honest promptings of his heart
is still strong within him.

They have now ascended the hill, and, standing on its summit, can look
down on the wild deep sea beneath them that lies, to all possible
seeming, as calm and passive at their feet as might a thing inanimate.

Yet within its depths what terrible--what mournful tragedies lie! And,
as if in contrast, what ecstatic joys! To one it speaks like death
itself--to another:

"The bridegroom sea
Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride,
And in the fullness of his marriage joy