I record it to my shame that I was heartless enough to begin moving away. Indeed, I had advanced twenty or thirty paces up the beck before Gibson decided on a second pursuit. "About Susan, Ma’am!" he said, with red cheeks. "Shall you tell Susan, Ma’am, that I’m in these parts?" "That reminds me, Gibson," I retorted, "you’ve forgotten so much of the bargain we made at Traxelby that I can’t be certain of anything. You promised not to tell Susan that I had ever let you discuss her with me." "I sha’n’t forget, Ma’am. But ... can’t I see Susan for a minute?" "How? Where?" "I might hang about, Ma’am." "And frighten her out of her life. No thank you, Gibson! If there’s to be any meeting, you’d better write about it from Grandpont." "It’d take time, Ma’am." "Surely you can wait a day or two, Gibson?" He lost his self-command once more. "No!" he cried, "I can’t wait. And if I could wait, I won’t. I must see Susan before another sun goes down." "Don’t shout, Gibson," I said; "people will hear you. Even if it isn’t against your interest to force yourself on Susan, how do you know she will see you? Perhaps she won’t." He started. Then he turned aside in such sharp trouble, that my hard heart melted. "The most I can do," I said, "is this. I will tell Susan how you met me on the beach, and that I was very angry. I will say nothing about our talk that night in the garden at Traxelby, and you must not mention it either. All I’m supposed to know is, that you’re very keen about Susan, and that you think she encouraged you, and that you’re worrying because she doesn’t write. In short, if you and Susan meet, you must keep to your own affairs, and not bring me in at all. Above all, never say that I wrote to you. I will tell Susan that you will be on the beach at half-past two. She must please herself whether she meets you or not. But remember, to-day is exceptional. No secret meetings. You can get something to eat in the village at the Café de la Marine. I must go." I found Susan sitting under an apple-tree with Georgette. Georgette was jabbering over a fearful and wonderful plum-coloured blouse which the two were slashing and altering. It may have been my fancy, but Georgette looked a bit sheepish as she went away. "Mees Breegs" advanced to meet me. "Susan," I said, "some one whom you know is in the neighbourhood." Susan’s colour fled. "Is he, Miss?" she asked fearfully. "At Grandpont," I went on. "Madame Dupoirier told me about it last night. She was at Grandpont station in the ’bus yesterday. He read the name of the hotel, and asked Madame if you were here." As usual, Susan’s colour rushed back, with reinforcements. She began to tremble. "It’s that flower, Miss!" she gasped, "Georgette’s flower! Oh, Miss Gertrude, I can’t face him yet! I can’t, I can’t!" "You don’t need to, Susan," I said. "It isn’t Lord Ruddington." Susan moaned a little moan of thankfulness. But her face clouded again as I added: