He again raised his cap—and passed on into the office. Mary stood undecided for a moment; then moved slowly away, accompanied by Käthchen. Before them was the wide sweep of the bay, with Lochgarra House at the point, and its background of larches. The sea was calm; the skies clear; it was a peaceful-looking morning. Of a sudden Mary Stanley stopped—her eyes full of disappointment and vexation. "Everything is at sixes and sevens—and worse than before!" she exclaimed to her companion. "What did I say, Käthchen? What did he say? Wasn’t he very insolent?—well, not that, exactly—not exactly insolent—but—well, I am not used to being treated with disdain. Why did he break off like that—with everything unsettled? Wasn’t he very insolent?—or, at least, disdainful?—what did I say that he should treat me like that?" "I know this," said the frivolous Käthchen, "that he has the most splendid eyes I ever saw in a human creature. I call him just distressingly handsome!" "There is nothing so contemptible as a beauty man," said Mary, impatiently. "What has that got to do with it? I want to know why he treated me like that!" "I thought he behaved with very great courtesy and self-respect," Käthchen made answer, "considering that you plainly intimated to him that it was he who stirred up all that ill-feeling against you." "Very well: he had nothing to say for himself!" Mary exclaimed. "He made no defence. And then, you see, I—I wasn’t quite prepared—I did not expect to see him—and I forgot about the fishing and shooting, or that might have made him a little ashamed of himself, and a little less arrogant." She turned and looked towards the post-office. "I wonder whether that was a map that he had rolled up in his hand or a chart? If he is going on board his yacht again, he must pass this way. I cannot have things left as they are—worse than ever!" "I don’t see how you are to mend them at present," said Käthchen. "If you had kept on as you began, in that friendly way, it might have been all very well; but then you grew indignant, and almost charged him with being the mischief-maker. And I must say I think he behaved with very great consideration and courtesy." "Do you really think so?" said Mary, quickly—with her eyes still fixed on the post-office. And then she hesitated. And then she said: "Come, Käthchen, let us go back. I wish to make an apology to him——" "Mary!" her friend protested. "How can you think of such a thing!" "Oh, but you do not know. It is not about anything that has just happened. It is about the lake and the old castle. I quite forgot. And perhaps it is that that makes him so unforgiving. I must tell him that I am sorry." But Käthchen shrank back. "Make an apology for that?" said she. "You don’t seem to understand, Mary. It is too serious for an apology. If you murder a man’s father or mother, you can’t go to him and say ’I am very sorry.’