"Nothing," said Chatteris, and shut the lid on Melville. "I wish I had an argument as good." "What sort of people are they here?" asked Melville. "Isn't there a smuggling interest to conciliate?" "I haven't asked that," said Chatteris. "Smuggling is over and past, you know. Forty years ago. It always has been forty years ago. They trotted out the last of the smugglers,--interesting old man, full of reminiscences,--when there was a count of the Saxon Shore. He remembered smuggling--forty years ago. Really, I doubt if there ever was any smuggling. The existing coast guard is a sacrifice to a vain superstition." "Why!" cried the Sea Lady. "Only about five weeks ago I saw quite near here----" She stopped abruptly and caught Melville's eye. He grasped her difficulty. "In a paper?" he suggested. "Yes, in a paper," she said, seizing the rope he threw her. "Well?" asked Chatteris. "There is smuggling still," said the Sea Lady, with an air of some one who decides not to tell an anecdote that is suddenly found to be half forgotten. "There's no doubt it happens," said Chatteris, missing it all. "But it doesn't appear in the electioneering. I certainly sha'n't agitate for a faster revenue cutter. However things may be in that respect, I take the line that they are very well as they are. That's my line, of course." And he looked out to sea. The eyes of Melville and the Sea Lady had an intimate moment. "There, you know, is just a specimen of the sort of thing we do," said Chatteris. "Are you prepared to be as intricate as that?" "Quite," said the Sea Lady. My cousin was reminded of an anecdote. The talk degenerated into anecdotes of canvassing, and ran shallow. My cousin was just gathering that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Bunting had been with the Sea Lady and had gone into the town to a shop, when they returned. Chatteris rose to greet them and explained--what had been by no means apparent before--that he was on his way to Adeline, and after a few further trivialities he and Melville went on together. A brief silence fell between them. "Who is that Miss Waters?" asked Chatteris. "Friend of Mrs. Bunting," prevaricated Melville. "So I gather.... She seems a very charming person." "She is." "She's interesting. Her illness seems to throw her up. It makes a passive thing of her, like a picture or something that's--imaginary. Imagined--anyhow. She sits there and smiles and responds. Her eyes--have something intimate. And yet----" My cousin offered no assistance. "Where did Mrs. Bunting find her." My cousin had to gather himself together for a second or so. "There's something," he said deliberately, "that Mrs. Bunting doesn't seem disposed----" "What can it be?" "It's bound to be all right," said Melville rather weakly. "It's strange, too. Mrs. Bunting is usually so disposed----" Melville left that to itself. "That's what one feels," said Chatteris. "What?" "Mystery."