and
fancied also that he saw a curious flash of contempt pass over the
woman's features as she answered--

"Really unless you kill the Admiral next time he makes a pun, I do
not know that just now I need such a service. By to-morrow, though,
or the next day, I may think of one. Until then"--she held out her
hand--"wait patiently, and be kind to Sophia."

Mr. Moggridge started as though stung by a snake; but, recollecting
himself, imprinted a kiss upon the proffered fingers. Again Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys laughed with unaffected mirth, and again the hidden
witness saw that curious gleam of scorn--only now, as the young man
bent his head, it was not dissembled.

They were gone. Mr. Fogo sank back against the bushes, drew a long
breath, and passed his hand nervously over his eyes; but though the
scene had passed as a dream, the laugh still rang in his ears.

"It is a judgment on me!" muttered the poor man--"a judgment!
They are all alike."

Curiously enough, his next reflection appeared to contradict this
view of the sex.

"An extraordinary woman! But every fresh person I meet in this place
is more eccentric than the last. Let me see," he continued, checking
off the list on his fingers; "there's Caleb, and that astounding
Admiral, and the Twins, and Tamsin--"

Mr. Fogo stared very hard at the water for some seconds.

"And Tamsin," he repeated slowly. "Hullo! my feet seem to be in the
water--and, bless my soul! what has become of the boat?"

He might well ask. The tide had been steadily rising as he crouched
under the banks, and was now lapping his boots. Worse than this, it
had floated off the boat, which he had carelessly forgotten to
secure, and drifted it up the river, at first under cover of the
trees, afterwards more ostentatiously into mid-channel.

Mr. Fogo rushed up the patch of shingle until brought to a standstill
by its sudden declension into deep water. There was no help for it.
Not a soul was in sight. He divested himself rapidly of his clothes,
piled them in a neat little heap beyond reach of the tide, and then
with considerable spirit plunged into the flood and struck out in
pursuit of the truant.

CHAPTER XIV.

OF A LADY OF SENSIBILITY THAT, BEING AWKWARDLY PLACED, MIGHT EASILY
HAVE SET MATTERS RIGHT, BUT DID NOT: WITH MUCH BESIDE.

It is hardly necessary by this time to inform my readers that Miss
Priscilla Limpenny was a lady of sensibility. We have already seen
her obey