Hairblower did _not_ tell them that half his earnings as soon as he got well went to the support of his mate’s widow and her four children; perhaps it was as well he did not, for Blanche’s eyes were already full of tears, and Charlie felt more than half inclined to embrace the honest seaman, but a bump against the shingle disturbed all their comments, at the same time that it broke through Mrs. Kettering’s day-dreams, and Blanche had hardly got as far as “Here we are, mamma, and here’s----” when she was interrupted by Cousin Charlie’s vociferous “Look alive, aunt. Hurrah! three cheers--who’d have thought it? There’s Frank Hardingstone!” CHAPTER II THE ABIGAIL BLANCHE’S BOUDOIR--A LADY’S LADY’S-MAID--MRS. KETTERING AT LUNCHEON--AN HOUR’S PRACTICE--THE “MAN OF ACTION”--FOOD FOR THE MIND--A FRIEND IN NEED--A VISIT TO DAVID JONES Whilst Mr. Hardingstone offers an arm--and a good strong arm it is--to each of the ladies, and assists them slowly up the toilsome shingle, let us take advantage of Blanche’s absence to peep into her pretty room, where, as it is occupied only by Gingham, the maid, we need not fear the fate of Actæon as a punishment for our curiosity. It is indeed a sweet little retreat, with its chintz hangings and muslin curtains, its open windows looking upon the shining Channel, and all its etceteras of girlish luxury and refinement, that to us poor old bachelors seem the very essence of ladylike comfort. In one corner stands the book-case, by which we may discover the pretty proprietor’s taste, at least in literature. Divers stiffish volumes on the sciences repose comfortably enough, as if they had not often been disturbed, and although scrupulously dusted, were but seldom opened; but on the sofa, near that full-length glass, a new novel lies upon its face, with a paper-cutter inserted at that critical page where the heroine refuses her lover (in blank verse), on the high-minded principle that he is not sufficiently poor to test her sincerity, or sufficiently sensible to know his own mind, or some equally valid and uncomplimentary reason--a consideration for the male sex, we may remark _en passant_, that is more common in works of fiction than in real life--while on the table a drawing-room scrap-book opens of itself at some thrilling lines addressed “To a Débutante,” and commencing, “Fair girl, the priceless gems upon thy brow,” by an anonymous nobleman, who betrays in the composition a wide range of fancy and a novel application of several English words. Flowers are disposed in one or two common glass vases, with a womanly taste that makes the apartment in that hired house like a home; and loose music, of the double-action pianoforte school, scatters itself about every time the door opens, in a system of fluttering disorder, which provokes Gingham to express audibly her abhorrence of a place that is “all of a litter.” “She can’t a-bear it--can you, Bully?” smirks the