"She's a mermaid." "She's a fool," said Lady Poynting Mallow. "She doesn't even mean to marry him; it doesn't enter into her code." "The hussy! What does she mean?" My cousin made a gesture seaward. "That!" he said. "She's a mermaid." "What?" "Out there." "Where?" "There!" Lady Poynting Mallow scanned the sea as if it were some curious new object. "It's an amphibious outlook for the family," she said after reflection. "But even then--if she doesn't care for society and it makes Harry happy--and perhaps after they are tired of--rusticating----" "I don't think you fully realise that she is a mermaid," said Melville; "and Chatteris, you know, breathes air." "That _is_ a difficulty," admitted Lady Poynting Mallow, and studied the sunlit offing for a space. "I don't see why it shouldn't be managed for all that," she considered after a pause. "It can't be," said Melville with arid emphasis. "She cares for him?" "She's come to fetch him." "If she wants him badly he might make terms. In these affairs it's always one or other has to do the buying. She'd have to _marry_--anyhow." My cousin regarded her impenetrably satisfied face. "He could have a yacht and a diving bell," she suggested; "if she wanted him to visit her people." "They are pagan demigods, I believe, and live in some mythological way in the Mediterranean." "Dear Harry's a pagan himself--so that doesn't matter, and as for being mythological--all good families are. He could even wear a diving dress if one could be found to suit him." "I don't think that anything of the sort is possible for a moment." "Simply because you've never been a woman in love," said Lady Poynting Mallow with an air of vast experience. She continued the conversation. "If it's sea water she wants it would be quite easy to fit up a tank wherever they lived, and she could easily have a bath chair like a sitz bath on wheels.... Really, Mr. Milvain----" "Melville." "Mr. Melville, I don't see where your 'impossible' comes in." "Have you seen the lady?" "Do you think I've been in Folkestone two days doing nothing?" "You don't mean you've called on her?" "Dear, no! It's Harry's place to settle that. But I've seen her in her bath chair on the Leas, and I'm certain I've never seen any one who looked so worthy of dear Harry. _Never!_" "Well, well," said Melville. "Apart from any other considerations, you know, there's Miss Glendower." "I've never regarded her as a suitable wife for Harry." "Possibly not. Still--she exists." "So many people do," said Lady Poynting Mallow. She evidently regarded that branch of the subject as dismissed. They pursued their way in silence. "What I wanted to ask you, Mr. Milvain----" "Melville." "Mr. Melville, is just precisely where you come into this business?" "I'm a friend of Miss Glendower." "Who wants him back." "Frankly--yes." "Isn't she devoted to him?" "I presume as she's engaged----"