Had Florian been present he would have felt only shame and abasement at the tone and manner Shafto adopted on this occasion; but worthy Lawyer Carlyon, who did not believe a bit in the rumoured accession of Shafto to family rank and wealth, laughed softly to himself, and thought his 'pride would have a sore fall one of these fine days.' And even now, when face to face with Dulcie, his general bearing, his coolness and insouciance, rendered her, amid all her grief, indignant and defiant ultimately. How piquant, compact, and perfect the girl looked, from the smart scarlet feather in her little hat to her tiny Balmoral boots. Her veil was tightly tied across her face, showing only the tip of her nose, her ripe red lips, and pretty white chin--its point, like her cheeks, reddened somewhat by the winter breeze from the Channel. Her gloved hands were in her small muff, and the collar of her sealskin jacket was encircled by the necklet at which her silver locket hung--the locket Shafto had seen her kiss when Florian had bestowed it on her, while he looked close by, with his heart full of envy, jealousy, and hatred, and now it was the first thing that attracted his eye. 'And you actually leave us to-night, Shafto?' she said softly. 'Yes, Dulcie, by the train for Worcester and the north. My estates, you know, are in Scotland.' 'These changes are all strange and most startling,' said she, with a sob in her slender throat. 'We live in whirligig times, Dulcie; but I suppose it is the result of progress,' he added sententiously. 'I wonder how our grandfathers and grandmothers contrived to mope over and yawn out their dull and emotionless existence till they reached threescore and ten years.' 'I shall never see that age, Shafto.' 'Who knows; though life, however sweet now, won't be worth living for then, I fancy.' Dulcie sighed, and he regarded her in admiring silence, for he had a high appreciation of her bright and delicate beauty, and loved her--if we may degrade the phrase--in his own selfish and peculiar way, though now resolved--as he had often thought vainly--to 'fly at higher game;' and so, full of ideas, hopes, and ambitions of his own, if he had ceased to think of Dulcie, he had, at least, ceased for a space to trouble her. 'Florian will be writing to you, of course?' said he, after a pause. 'Alas! no, we have made no arrangement; and then, you know, papa----' 'Wouldn't approve, of course. My farewell advice to you, Dulcie, is--Don't put off your time thinking of Florian--his ship will never come home.' 'Nor yours either, perhaps,' said Dulcie, angrily. 'You think so--but you are wrong.' 'Ah! I know these waited for ships rarely do.'