"Perhaps he couldn't stand my lovely aunt's superadded presence. But
then, he's the guest of Blanche's father, and I dare say they see enough
of each other as it is."

"But isn't it a rather dangerous situation?"

"For him, perhaps; although he's awfully old, and very queer. For
her, with an experience that takes in all the available men in both
hemispheres, ending with Nugat over there, I should say a man more or
less wouldn't affect her much, anyway. Of course," he laughed, "these
are the accents of bitterness. But that was last year."

Perhaps Islington did not overhear the speaker; perhaps, if he did, the
criticism was not new. He turned carelessly away, and sauntered out
on the road to the sea. Thence he strolled along the sands toward the
cliffs, where, meeting an impediment in the shape of a garden wall, he
leaped it with a certain agile, boyish ease and experience, and struck
across an open lawn toward the rocks again. The best society of Greyport
were not early risers, and the spectacle of a trespasser in an evening
dress excited only the criticism of grooms hanging about the stables, or
cleanly housemaids on the broad verandas that in Greyport architecture
dutifully gave upon the sea. Only once, as he entered the boundaries of
Cliffwood Lodge, the famous seat of Renwyck Masterman, was he aware of
suspicious scrutiny; but a slouching figure that vanished quickly in the
lodge offered no opposition to his progress. Avoiding the pathway to
the lodge, Islington kept along the rocks until, reaching a little
promontory and rustic pavilion, he sat down and gazed upon the sea.

And presently an infinite peace stole upon him. Except where the waves