"Yes," said the man, suddenly smiling; "it is pure poetry, and I make you a present of the copyright." "But," Beth objected, "the shore is _not_ brown. I've been thinking and thinking what to call it. It's the colour--the colour of--the colour of tarnished silver," she burst out at last triumphantly. "Well observed," he said. "Then I make you a present of the copyright," Beth answered readily. "Thank you," he said; "but it will not scan." "What is scan?" "It won't fit into the verse, you know." "The beautiful bare colour-of-tarnished-silver bosom of the shore," she sang out glibly; then agreed, with a wise shake of her head, that the phrase was impossible; and recurred to another point of interest, as was her wont--"What is copyright?" Before he could answer, however, Mrs. Caldwell had swooped down upon them. She had seen him from the cliff talking to Beth, and hastened down the steps in her hot-tempered way, determined to rebuke the man for his familiarity, and heedless of Aunt Victoria, who had made an effort to stop her. "May I ask why you are interfering with my child, sir?" she demanded. The man in the sailor-suit raised his hat and bowed low. "Excuse me, madam," he said. "I could not possibly have supposed that she was your child." Mrs. Caldwell coloured angrily as at an insult, although the words seemed innocent enough. When he had spoken, he turned to Beth, with his hat still in his hand, and added--"Good-bye, little lady. We must meet again, you and I--on the beautiful bare brown bosom of the shore." Beth's sympathy shone out in a smile, and she waved her hand confidingly to him as he turned away. Mrs. Caldwell seized her arm and hurried her up the steps to Aunt Victoria, who stood on the edge of the cliff blinking calmly. "Imagine Beth scraping acquaintance with such a common-looking person!" Mrs. Caldwell cried. "You must never speak to him or look at him again--do you hear? I wonder what taste you will develop next!" "It is a pity that you are so impetuous, Caroline," Aunt Victoria observed quietly. "That gentleman is the Count Gustav Bartahlinsky, who may perhaps be considered eccentric here, where noblemen of great attainments and wealth are certainly not numerous; but is hardly to be called common-looking." Beth saw her mother's countenance drop. "Then I _may_ speak to him," she decided for herself. "What's a copyright, mamma?" "Oh, don't bother, Beth!" Mrs. Caldwell exclaimed irritably. When they went home, Bernadine clamoured for food, and her mother gave her a piece of bread. They were to have dinner at four o'clock, but no luncheon, for economy's sake. Beth was hungry too, but she would not confess it. What she had heard of their poverty had made a deep impression on her, and she was determined to eat as little as possible. Aunt Victoria glanced at Bernadine and the bread as she went up to her room, and Beth fancied she heard her sigh. Was the old lady hungry too, she wondered, and her little heart sank.