“I don’t know. No, I don’t think I do! I liked him when I was with him, but I hate him when I remember his eyes. He looked at me as if I were something to eat,” she said pettishly. “No, I don’t like him. He frightens me.” “How?” incredulously. Any other than Beryl she would have turned from contemptuously if they had dared to criticize Raimond Erle. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know exactly. But he wanted me to go out in the yacht with him this afternoon, and I said I wouldn’t without you. I wouldn’t go anywhere alone with him.” “Without me! You said--Beryl, quick, what did you call me? Not Andria?” white as death she stood over the girl. “No. I did slip and say Miss Heathcote, but I corrected myself and said Miss Holbeach. Why do you look like that? He didn’t notice. You don’t mean he knows you?” “Not now,” said Andria, holding herself hard. “He did, once. What did he say when you slipped on my name?” “Nothing. Half-shut his eyes like some people do when they smell a nasty smell.” “You’re more truthful than polite.” “Well, you asked me, and that was exactly how he did look. Mr. Egerton swam into the conversation with something about ‘Miss Holbeach being my governess and an excellent woman,’ and Mr. Erle looked comfortable again.” Andria did not wonder. “An excellent woman!” No words could have been found that would have better set Raimond at rest. “Did he say any more?” she asked wretchedly. Beryl turned crimson. “No, he--he’s a beast, and I hate him!” she said passionately. “He said he was glad I did not produce you at meals; learned ladies took away his appetite.” “I won’t interfere with it; he needn’t agitate himself! Beryl, dear, don’t speak of me to him; don’t tell him my Christian name, and don’t let Heathcote slip again. I knew him once. I don’t want him to know I’m here. At least,” hastily, “not now.” Every pulse of her longed to meet him, but not before Egerton and Beryl. If she was to go to England in the same ship she must see him first, but it should be no chance meeting before strangers. “I won’t say a word about you,” and, with a rare caress, she flung her arms round Andria’s neck--“if you say not. Are you afraid of him, too?” “No!” said Andria sharply. “I can’t meet any one I ever knew till I’m better--that’s all. See how ugly and swollen my throat is.” “I hate you being hurt for me. I wish it had been me that was bitten!” Beryl said, with more force than grammar. “Did you tell him about that?” “No, I didn’t! I don’t believe he would have listened if I had. He only talked nonsense.” “Do you mean he made love to you? Bah! Don’t answer me,” she cried, “I was a fool to ask. He would make love to a girl who kept pigs, if she were pretty.” “I don’t want him to think I’m pretty!” said Beryl, ruffled as a cat stroked the wrong way, utterly ignorant of the way she was betraying her own thoughts. “What have you done about Mr. Heriot? Have you told?”