Lightly flew the moments in the balmy air, freshened by the salt sea, warmed by the glory of a meridian sun--lightly and happily for that wise majority of the revellers, whose philosophy is to get the most out of to-day's fair summer-time, and to leave future winters and possible calamities to Jove's discretion. Jessie watched the girl who had grown up by her side, whose every thought she had once known, and wondered if this beautiful artificial impersonation of society tones and society graces could be verily the same flesh and blood. What had made this wondrous transformation? Had Christabel's very soul undergone a change during that dismal period of apathy last winter? She had awakened from that catalepsy of despair a new woman--eager for frivolous pleasures--courting admiration--studious of effect: the very opposite of that high-souled and pure-minded girl whom Jessie had known and loved. "It is the most awful moral wreck that was ever seen," thought Jessie; "but if my love can save her from deeper degradation she shall be saved." Could she care for that showy impostor posed at her feet, gazing up at her with passionate eyes--hanging on her accents--openly worshipping her? She seemed to accept his idolatry, to sanction his insolence; and all her friends looked on, half scornful, half amused. "What can Tregonell be thinking about not to be here to-day?" said Jack Vandeleur, close to Jessie's elbow. "Why should he be here?" she asked. "Because he's wanted. He's neglecting that silly woman shamefully." "It is only his way," answered Jessie, scornfully. "Last year he invited Mr. Hamleigh to Mount Royal, who had been engaged to his wife a few years before. He is not given to jealousy." "Evidently not," said Captain Vandeleur, waxing thoughtful, as he lighted a cigarette, and strolled slowly off to stare at the sea, the rocky pinnacles, and yonder cormorant skimming away from a sharp point, to dip and vanish in the green water. The pilgrimage from Trevena to Trevithy farm was somewhat less straggling than the long walk by the cliffs. The way was along a high road, which necessitated less meandering, but the party still divided itself into twos and threes, and Christabel still allowed de Cazalet the privilege of a _tête-à-tête_. She was a better walker than any of her friends, and the Baron was a practised pedestrian; so those two kept well ahead, leaving the rest of the party to follow as they pleased. "I wonder they are not tired of each other by this time," said Mopsy, whose Wurtemburg heels were beginning to tell upon her temper. "It has been such a long day--and such a long walk. What can the Baron find to talk about all this time?" "Himself," answered FitzJesse, "an inexhaustible subject. Men can always talk. Listening is the art in which they fail. Are you a good listener, Miss Vandeleur?" "I'm afraid not. If any one is prosy I begin to think of my frocks."