"I ’ll be in John’s cabin, under the pier," said Cregeen, "where ye found me this mornun." "Right!" said Denry. If Ruth had not been caracoling on her absurdly high horse, she would have had the truth out of Denry in a moment concerning these early morning interviews and mysterious transactions in shipping. But from that height she could not deign to be curious. And so she said naught. Denry had passed the whole morning since breakfast and had uttered no word of preprandial encounters with mariners, though he had talked a lot about his article for the _Signal_ and of how he had risen betimes in order to despatch it by the first train. And as Ruth showed no curiosity, Denry behaved on the assumption that she felt none. And the situation grew even more strained. As they walked down the pier towards the beach, at the dinner-hour, Ruth bowed to a dandiacal man who obsequiously saluted her. "Who ’s that?" asked Denry instinctively. "It’s a gentleman that I was once engaged to," answered Ruth with cold, brief politeness. Denry did not like this. The situation almost creaked under the complicated stresses to which it was subject. And the wonder was that it did not fly to pieces long before evening. VI The pride of the principal actors being now engaged, each person was compelled to carry out the intentions which he had expressed either in words or tacitly. Denry’s silence had announced more efficiently than any words that he would under no inducement emerge from his castle. Ruth had stated plainly that there was nothing for it but to go home at once, that very night. Hence she arranged to go home, and hence Denry refrained from interfering with her arrangements. Ruth was lugubrious under a mask of gaiety; Nellie was lugubrious under no mask whatever. Nellie was merely the puppet of these betrothed players, her elders. She admired Ruth and she admired Denry, and between them they were spoiling the little thing’s holiday for their own adult purposes. Nellie knew that dreadful occurrences were in the air—occurrences compared to which the storm at sea was a storm in a teacup. She knew partly because Ruth had been so queerly polite, and partly because they had come separately to St. Asaph’s Road and had not spent the entire afternoon together.