The poisoned state of his mind was increased by a December high wind that rattled his casements, and warned him of his accession of property exposed to the elements. Both he and his sister attributed their nervousness to the sinister behaviour of Van Diemen. For the house on the beach had only, in most distant times, been threatened by the sea, and no house on earth was better protected from man,--Neptune, in the shape of a coastguard, being paid by Government to patrol about it during the hours of darkness. They had never had any fears before Van Diemen arrived, and caused them to give thrice their ordinary number of dinners to guests per annum. In fact, before Van Diemen came, the house on the beach looked on Crikswich without a rival to challenge its anticipated lordship over the place, and for some inexplicable reason it seemed to its inhabitants to have been a safer as well as a happier residence. They were consoled by Tinman’s performance of a clever stroke in privately purchasing the cottages west of the town, and including Crickledon’s shop, abutting on Marine Parade. Then from the house on the beach they looked at an entire frontage of their property. They entered the month of February. No further time was to be lost, “or we shall wake up to find that man has fooled us,” Mrs. Cavely said. Tinman appeared at Elba to demand a private interview with Annette. His hat was blown into the hall as the door opened to him, and he himself was glad to be sheltered by the door, so violent was the gale. Annette and her father were sitting together. They kept the betrothed gentleman waiting a very long time. At last Van Diemen went to him, and said, “Netty ‘ll see you, if you must. I suppose you have no business with me?” “Not to-day,” Tinman replied. Van Diemen strode round the drawing-room with his hands in his pockets. “There’s a disparity of ages,” he said, abruptly, as if desirous to pour out his lesson while he remembered it. “A man upwards of forty marries a girl under twenty, he’s over sixty before she’s forty; he’s decaying when she’s only mellow. I ought never to have struck you, I know. And you’re such an infernal bad temper at times, and age does n’t improve that, they say; and she’s been educated tip-top. She’s sharp on grammar, and a man may n’t like that much when he’s a husband. See her, if you must. But she does n’t take to the idea; there’s the truth. Disparity of ages and unsuitableness of dispositions--what was it Fellingham said?--like two barrel-organs grinding different tunes all day in a house.” “I don’t want to hear Mr. Fellingham’s comparisons,” Tinman snapped. “Oh! he’s nothing to the girl,” said Van Diemen. “She doesn’t stomach leaving me.” “My dear Philip! why should she leave you? When we have interests in common as one household--” “She says you’re such a damned bad temper.”