As she loitered along the shore with her amusing companion, Lucy had many things to think of. There was her darling’s match. The yachts were started by pistol-shot by Lord Mountfalcon on board the Empress, and her little heart beat after Richard’s straining sails. Then there was the strangeness of walking with a relative of Richard’s, one who had lived by his side so long. And the thought that perhaps this night she would have to appear before the dreaded father of her husband. “O Mr. Harley!” she said, “is it true—are we to go tonight? And me,” she faltered, “will he see me?” “Ah! that is what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Adrian. “I made some reply to our dear boy which he has slightly misinterpreted. Our second person plural is liable to misconstruction by an ardent mind. I said ‘see you,’ and he supposed—now, Mrs. Richard, I am sure you will understand me. Just at present perhaps it would be advisable—when the father and son have settled their accounts, the daughter-in-law can’t be a debtor.”... Lucy threw up her blue eyes. A half-cowardly delight at the chance of a respite from the awful interview made her quickly apprehensive. “O Mr. Harley! you think he should go alone first?” “Well, that is my notion. But the fact is, he is such an excellent husband that I fancy it will require more than a man’s power of persuasion to get him to go.” “But I will persuade him, Mr. Harley.” “Perhaps, if you would...” “There is nothing I would not do for his happiness,” murmured Lucy. The wise youth pressed her hand with lymphatic approbation. They walked on till the yachts had rounded the point. “Is it to-night, Mr. Harley?” she asked with some trouble in her voice now that her darling was out of sight.