"Thank you. Good-morning."

"Good-marnin', sir."

He started as though to continue his walk along the cliffs beyond the
plateau and the gorse; then he stopped suddenly, actuated, as it seemed, by
a chance thought, and turned back to the girl. She was looking out to sea
again.

"By the way," he said, unconcernedly, and with no suggestion that anything
in particular was responsible for his politeness. "I see you are on the
lookout there for something. You may have my glass a moment, if you like,
before I go on. They bring the ships very close."

The girl flushed with shy pleasure and seemed a little uncertain what to
answer. Barron, meanwhile, showed no trace of a smile, but looked bored if
anything, and, with a serious face, handed her the glass, then walked a
little way off. He was grave and courteous, but made no attempt at
friendship. He had noticed when Joan smiled that her teeth were fine, and
that her full face, though sweet enough, was a shade too plump.

"Thank 'e kindly, sir," she said, taking the glass. "You see theer's a gert
ship passin' down Channel, an'--an' my Joe's aboard 'er, an' they'm bound
for furrin' paarts, an' I promised as I'd come to this here horny-winky
[Footnote: _Horny-winky_--Lonely. Fit place for horny-winks.] plaace to get
a last sight o' the vessel if I could." He made no answer, and, after a
pause, she spoke again.

"I caan't see naught, but that's my fault, p'raps, not bein' used to sich
things."