David gave those he had brightened a sad smile, and went hastily in-doors. He put his violin into its case, and sealed and directed his letter to Eve. He could not rest in-doors, so he roamed out again, but this time he took care to go on the lawn. Nobody would come there, he thought, to interrupt his melancholy. He was doomed to be disappointed in that respect. As he sat in the little summer-house with his head on the table, he suddenly heard an elastic step on the dry gravel. He started peevishly up and saw a lady walking briskly toward him: it was Miss Fountain. She saw him at the same instant. She hesitated a single half-moment; then, as escape was impossible, resumed her course. David went bashfully to meet her. “Good-morning, Mr. Dodd,” said she, in the most easy, unembarrassed way imaginable. He stammered a “good-morning,” and flushed with pleasure and confusion. He walked by her side in silence. She stole a look at him, and saw that, after the first blush at meeting her, he was pale and haggard. On this she dashed into singularly easy and cheerful conversation with him; told him that this morning walk was her custom--“My substitute for rouge, you know. I am always the first up in this languid house; but I must not boast before you, who, I dare say, turn out--is not that the word?--at daybreak. But, now I think of it, no! you would have crossed my hawse before, Mr. Dodd,” using naval phrases to flatter him. “It was my ill-luck; I always cruised a mile off. I had no idea this bit of gravel was your quarter-deck.” “It is, though, because it is always dry. You would not like a quarter-deck with that character, would you?” “Oh yes, I should. I'd have my bowsprit always wet, and my quarter-deck always dry. But it is no use wishing for what we cannot have.” “That is very true,” said Lucy, quietly. David reflected on his own words, and sighed deeply. This did not suit Lucy. She plied him with airy nothings, that no man can arrest and impress on paper; but the tone and smile made them pleasing, and then she asked his opinion of the other guests in such a way as implied she took some interest in his opinion of them, but mighty little in the people themselves. In short, she chatted with him like an old friend, and nothing more; but David was not subtle enough in general, nor just now calm enough, to see on what footing all this cordiality was offered him. His color came back, his eye brightened, happiness beamed on his face, and the lady saw it from under her lashes. “How fortunate I fell in with you here! You are yourself again--on your quarter-deck. I scarce knew you the last few days. I was afraid I had offended you. You seemed to avoid me.” “Nonsense, Mr. Dodd; what is there about you to avoid?” “Plenty, Miss Fountain; I am so inferior to your other friends.” “I was not aware of it, Mr. Dodd.”