While Lady Charlotte lingered on the beach, she became aware of a figure that hung about her; as she was moving away, a voice of one she knew well enough asked to be directed to the house inhabited by Mrs. Chump. The lady was more startled than it pleased her to admit to herself. “Don't you know me?” she said, bluntly. “You!” went Emilia's voice. “Why on earth are you here? What brings you here? Are you alone?” returned the lady. Emilia did not answer. “What extraordinary expedition are you making? But, tell me one thing: are you here of your own accord, or at somebody else's bidding?” Impatient at the prospect of a continuation of silences, Lady Charlotte added, “Come with me.” Emilia seemed to be refusing. “The appointment was made at that house, I know,” said the lady; “but if you come with me, you will see him just as readily.” At this instant, the lamp was placed on the pillar, showing Wilfrid, in his sailor's hat and overcoat, beside the fluttering Irishwoman. “Come, I must speak to you first,” said Lady Charlotte hurriedly, thinking that she saw Emilia's hands stretch out. “Pray, don't go into attitudes. There he is, as you perceive; and I don't use witchcraft. Come with me; I will send for him. Haven't you learnt by this time that there's nothing he detests so much as a public display of the kind you're trying to provoke?” Emilia half comprehended her. “He changes when he's away from me,” she said, low toneless voice. “Less than I fancied,” the lady thought. Then she told Emilia that there was really no necessity for her to whine and be miserable; she was among friends, and so forth. The simplicity of her manner of speech found its way to Emilia's reason quicker than her arguments; and, in the belief that Wilfrid was speaking to Mrs. Chump on urgent private matters (she had great awe of the word 'business'), Emilia suffered herself to be led away. She uttered twice a little exclamation, as she looked back, that sounded exceedingly comical to Lady Charlotte's ears. They were the repressions of a poignant outcry. “Doggies make that noise,” thought the lady, and succeeded in feeling contemptuous.