The next, for her, was to meet Gilbert Roe's eyes looking straight into her own. It was like the sudden onslaught of an ambushed foe, on a band marching in careless order. They form square if they can, and stand to their arms. It was well for her she had so recently looked to her armour. The shock to her nerves was severe, but her spirit rose in defiance. She recovered, without betraying herself before the crowded room, and was more than usually gay all through dinner. It was a relief, however, when the repast was ended, and she could saunter with Lettice along the sands away from curious eyes, and feel at ease. "What a shock it must have been to you, Rose! I meant to have given you warning, but you came down so late, and the old folks were so hungry and impatient, that there was no chance.... However, you bore up splendidly--and now, it is over." "Yes, I am glad it is over; and glad I did not know beforehand." "If he is a gentleman, he will go first thing to-morrow morning." "It is no matter whether he goes or stays." "To think of his assurance! He came to me in the parlour, last night when I was dancing, to ask if you were here." "Yes?" and there was a tone of softening in Rose's voice as she said it. "But you may be sure I gave him no satisfaction." Rose sighed a little, but not audibly. "This morning, again, when we were walking to church, what does he do, do you think, but join me?--which, after the setting down I had given him last night, was really more than a girl could be expected to stand." Rose looked interested now and softened. "And? Well?" she said. "Well, I just treated him as he deserved; would have nothing to do with him; got round to the other side of my escort, and ignored him altogether." Rose's sigh was audible this time. "But you need not pity him, Rose, dear; or not much, at any rate. He is not inconsolable; and, what is better, he has a consoler. And such a one! You could not imagine an odder belle for the dashing Bertie Roe we can remember. He is no longer hypercritical as to good looks, I can tell you." "Who is it?" "Whom would you suppose? You know the washed-out little Yankee schoolma'am with the blue goggles? That's her!" "You must be mistaken." "So I was sure myself, at first. But no. I came home from church in the omnibus, and an old thing sat opposite me, who takes a most motherly interest in the pair--a friend of the schoolma'am. You should have heard her talk about them! It was just too altogether rich and comical. She says the sweet young things have been faithfully attached for the last ten years. To think of Bertie's constancy, you know! And they are going to be married. And in the meantime they spend their time gathering shells and grubbing in the sand together, for she mentioned their having little spades."