“Oh, Miss Du Cane,” he stammered, “I really——” But she broke in upon him, laughing. “Oh! what a shame! Really, Mr. Maradick, I didn’t mean to, but the gravel scrunched or something and it woke you. I’ve been doing the same thing, sleeping, I mean; it’s impossible to do anything else with heat like this.” Then her face grew grave. “All the same I’m not sure that I’m sorry, because I have wanted to talk to you very badly all day, and now, unless you _do_ want to go to sleep again, it does seem to be a chance.” “Why, of course,” he answered gravely, and he made way for her on the seat. He felt the sinister afternoon pressing upon him again. He was disturbed, worried, anxious; his nerves were all to pieces. And then she did most certainly embarrass him. The very way that she sat down, the careful slowness of her movement, and the grace with which she leant slightly forward so that the curve of her neck was like the curve of a pink shell against her white dress, embarrassed him. And he was tired, most undoubtedly tired; it was all beginning to be too much for him. And then he suddenly caught a look in her eyes as she turned towards him; something melancholy and appealing in it touched his heart and his embarrassment left him. “Mr. Maradick,” she began hurriedly, with her face again turned away from him, “you are much older than I am, and so I expect you’ll understand what I am trying to get at. And anyhow, you know all that’s been going on this week, more than anyone else does, and so there’s no need to beat about the bush. Besides, I always hate it. I always want to get straight at the thing, don’t you?” “Yes,” he said. It was one of the true things about both of them. “Well then, of course it’s about Tony. We all want to know about Tony, and nobody does know except you, and everybody’s afraid to ask you except myself, so there you are. You mustn’t think me impertinent; I don’t mean to be, but we _must_ know—some of us, at any rate!” “What _must_ you know?” he said. He was suddenly on his mettle. He resented the note of command in her voice. About his general position in the world he was quite ready to yield place, but about Tony’s affairs he would yield to no one; that was another matter. “Why, of course,” she said, looking at him, “what _I_ want to know, what we all want to know, is what he is doing. Of course we have all, by this time, a pretty good idea. I saw him with that girl down on the beach, and it’s been pretty obvious, by his being away so continually, what he is after. No, it isn’t exactly so much what he is doing as whether it’s all right.” “But then,” said Maradick, facing her, “why exactly are you asking me? Why not ask Tony?”