They talked for a while of the letters that each would write to the other and of what a Summer should follow that short parting, when every day they would be together and when perhaps even such days as those at Ladingford might come again. "And you won't worry about anything all this time you're away?" Guy asked. "I won't, indeed I won't." Guy went home to find a telegram from Comeragh saying that Sir George Gascony had got appendicitis and would not be going to Persia for a month or two at least. Yet he did not mention this telegram at the Rectory when next day he came to say good-bye to Pauline, because he was anxious to preserve the idea of his having vainly attempted to do something, and when he sat alone in his orchard the same afternoon, he had an emotion of something very near to relief that for a while there would be no more heart-searchings and stress, no more misgivings and reproaches and despairs. He was perfectly happy, sitting by himself in the orchard and staring at the blackthorn by the margin of the stream. _April_ Miss Verney was so droll at Scarborough and enjoyed herself so much that Pauline in her pleasure at the success of what the old maid called their 'jaunt' really was able to put aside for the present her own perplexities. The sands were empty at this season and the Spa unpopulous except for a few residents. The wind blew inland from a sparkling sea, while Miss Verney with bonnet all awry sitting in a draughty shelter declared that somehow like this she pictured the Riviera; and when the weather was too bad even for Miss Verney's azure dreams Pauline and she sat cosily among the tropic shells and Berlin wool of their lodgings. Long letters used to come every day from Guy, and long letters had to be written by Pauline to him; while perpetually Miss Verney tinkled on with marine tales that if no doubt nautically inaccurate had nevertheless a fine flavour of salt water. "I remember I was sitting in the parlour window at Southsea when a regiment.... I remember a Captain in the Royal Marines.... I remember how anxious my father was that I should have been a boy." "Oh, dear Miss Verney, you can't remember that." "Oh, yes, he invariably spoke of me as the Midshipman, I remember. I would then have been about eight years of age ... pray give my very kind regards to Mr. Guy and say how well we are both looking and what a benefit this fine air is to be sure, and don't forget our little expedition to the theatre. You must tell Mr. Guy the story of the piece. He will certainly enjoy hearing about that very nice-mannered convict who ... ah dear! how my poor father used to revel in the play."