"Hello! hello! You'll be getting run down one of these days!" But it was to show his new motor-bicycle, and what he had gained by her "turning him down," as well as what she had lost. Caroline was conscious of his triumphant attitude, though she only felt a sort of incredulous wonder that she could ever have thought of him as a lover. It seemed, somehow, to have happened in another life, so far off it appeared from her present experiences. After that two girls whom she knew passed, laughing and talking together on the other side of the road, and she immediately felt sure that they were making fun of her. No doubt it was all over the town that she had been "carrying on" with Wilson--a man just about to be married to Miss Temple, whom everybody respected and liked. There would be no pity there--only contempt. So she called out "good night" and went on as fast as she could, fancying what the girls were saying to each other. "Well, _I_ wouldn't have done such a thing! And I never reckoned to be as particular as Carrie Raby. But pride will have a fall----" She could almost hear them say it as she hurried on, her ambition as well as her love so deeply wounded that she could scarcely bear herself. Revolting, fighting--having to find out with exasperated agony like every one else that those who fight against destiny only hurt themselves. But as she passed the short street leading to the promenade a strong current of sea-air blew down it and she turned her hot face towards the breeze, looking up towards the pay-box which stood silent and deserted in the fading light. It took on for her now that strange quality which belongs to places where we have felt a great deal--as if the walls had absorbed some of the currents of emotion which had been given out there. She both loved the little wooden erection, and longed never to see it again. Beyond it, the Flamborough lights swung out across the sea: white--white--red. How unhappy life was! And contempt did not kill love, as she had always understood from the novels in the pretty paper covers which she liked to read so much. It had killed trust; but the ache in her went on just the same, even though Godfrey had been threatened by Uncle Creddle with a big stick, and had shown such a cowardly anxiety to escape a row. She drew in deep breaths of the salt air--cold, invigorating as it always was here after sunset on the warmest days; and all her mind was bent on despising him as he deserved. She tried to put her contempt into words, so as to make it more real. "He's no good. I'm well rid of him. I wouldn't have anything to do with him now, not if he were to crawl after me on his hands and knees from here to Flamborough." But the silence of the evening gave back an answer which she was obliged to hear in her heart; and she told herself, though with less certainty: "I _won't_ care; I _will_ end by not caring. He's not worth it."