"Oh! I do all the obvious things one has to do, living in such a place," she said. "I swim and I fish, I play golf and tennis when I can get any, and I sail a boat when I can borrow one. Those things are all sport to you, I suppose. When they become not a part of your life, but the whole of it, they are a dreary sort of pursuits." "My niece is seldom satisfied," Mr. Sarsby said sharply. "Why should I be?" she asked. "You, at least, have had your day. You have seen something of life, in however small a circle. I haven't! I dare say, after twenty years away, I might be content with these things. Life for you is simply a satisfactory thing or not according to whether you have beaten Colonel Forsitt or whether he has beaten you, whether you are heeling your mashie shots or laying them dead, holing your putts or leaving them short. You see, I haven't quite come to the stage when I find these things sufficient." "At any rate," Mr. Sarsby remarked, with what he imagined was a dignified air, "there is no need to take a stranger into your confidence. Mr. Deane is scarcely interested." "On the contrary," Deane answered, with a little bow. "But I thought you told me, Miss Sinclair, that you were probably leaving us before long." "Oh, I hope so!" she replied. "My uncle was not a man to break his promise, and he did promise. I am expecting to hear now every day." After tea, they wandered out on to the little stretch of sandy shingle which alone separated the cottage from the sea. The girl had walked on a little ahead, and Deane laid his hand for a moment upon her uncle's shoulder. "Mr. Sarsby," he said, "did I understand that the name of your niece's uncle was Sinclair--the same as her own?" Mr. Sarsby nodded. "Yes, sir!" he said,--"Richard Sinclair. He was her father's brother, you see,--a queer, wandering sort of fish. However, he certainly did write the girl, a few weeks ago, saying that he was back in England, and hoped to realize a large sum of money on some of his investments, and promised to send for her to come up to town. Since then, we have heard nothing from him." "Do you read the papers, Mr. Sarsby?" Deane asked. "I read the _Times_ for an hour every afternoon between five and six," Mr. Sarsby admitted. "I have a special arrangement with Mr. Foulds--the vicar--which enables me to do this,--a special arrangement!" he concluded, with a little gurgle of satisfaction. "Our vicar, by the bye, Mr. Deane, is a highly intelligent man. He will doubtless be coming across to see you." "I am here for so short a time," Deane said. "It is very kind of people, but really it is scarcely worth their while to trouble to come to see me. I am going on to Scotland in a few days. It is only that I was a little run down, and scarcely felt up to a large house-party, that I came here first." "You are one of those fortunate people, I see," Mr. Sarsby remarked, a little enviously, "who mix in the world."