sently they sat down on a seat; and under the influence of the
slight meal of which he had recently partaken, Mr. Wilkinson grew
drowsily eloquent about the inestimable privilege she was about to
enjoy of once more sharing her father's ducal home. But since the duke
was not her father, and she had no intention whatever of sharing his
ducal home, again the subject did not really interest her.

They returned to the hotel to dine; and since, while she was preparing
for it, Mr. Wilkinson informed the manager of what he believed to be
her rank and romantic history, during the meal she enjoyed a fine sense
of self-importance, as the other guests stared at her--frequently with
their mouths full.

Their interest compelled her to exercise her best manners; that she did
not mind; but she did mind wasting the beautiful evening over a long
dinner of no interest to her. In view of the fact that she had so
lately eaten that noble tea, the earlier courses could hardly be
expected to interest her; but the sweets to which she had been looking
forward proved of a most disappointing, though painstaking, insipidity;
and she was indeed glad when the meal came to an end.

Mr. Wilkinson talked affably, though with a touch of condescension not
unnatural in one in charge of the daughter of a duke, to a colonel and
golfer from Scotland, about the political situation. Pollyooly did not
realise how much their deference to his opinions, drawn from that
morning's _Daily Mail_, which both of them had read, was due to her
presence beside him. After dinner they returned to the bench on the
esplanade; and Pollyooly, for the first time in her life, had the
opportunity of learning how sentimental, after a bottle of champagne, a
middle-aged man can become about the moon. She gathered that he was
deeply attached to a lady named Myra.

At half-past nine they returned to the hotel; and when she went to bed
Mr. Wilkinson thoughtfully locked her in.

She slept well and rose early. The sea, smiling in the morning sun,
attracted her greatly; and it seemed good to her to bathe. In view of
the rank she was enjoying, it also seemed to her that she might very
well have her way in the matter. She dressed quickly, and with the
heel of her own stout shoe, a stouter shoe than Lady Marion ever wore,
she began to hammer on her bedroom door.

She had not hammered long before an eager, respectful chambermaid came
and asked her what she wanted. When she learned