Miss Nugent, reclining in a deck-chair at the bottom of the garden, looked up as she heard Hardy’s footstep on the gravel.  It was a surprising thing to see him walking down the garden; it was still more surprising to observe the brightness of his eye and the easy confidence of his bearing.  It was evident that he was highly pleased with himself, and she was not satisfied until she had ascertained the reason.  Then she sat silent, reflecting bitterly on the clumsy frankness of the male sex in general and fathers in particular.  A recent conversation with the captain, in which she had put in a casual word or two in Hardy’s favour, was suddenly invested with a new significance.

“I shall never be able to repay your father for his kindness,” said Hardy, meaningly, as he took a chair near her.

“I expect he was pleased at this marriage,” said Miss Nugent, coldly.  “How did it happen?”

Mr. Hardy shifted uneasily in his chair.  “There isn’t much to tell,” he said, reluctantly; “and you—­you might not approve of the means by which the end was gained.”

“Still, I want to hear about it,” said Miss Nugent.

For the second time that evening Hardy told his story.  It seemed more discreditable each time he told it, and he scanned the girl’s face anxiously as he proceeded, but, like her father, she sat still and made no comment until he had finished.  Then she expressed a strong feeling of gratitude that the Nugent family had not been mixed up in it.

“Why?” inquired Hardy, bluntly.

“I don’t think it was a very nice thing to do,” said Miss Nugent, with a superior air.

“It wouldn’t have been a very nice thing for you if your brother had married Miss Kybird,” said the indignant Jem.  “And you said, if you remember, that you didn’t mind what I did.”

“I don’t,” said Miss Nugent, noticing with pleasure that the confident air of a few minutes ago had quite disappeared.

“You think I have been behaving badly?” pursued Hardy.

“I would rather not say what I think,” replied Miss Nugent, loftily.  “I have no doubt you meant well, and I should be sorry to hurt your feelings.”

“Thank you,” said Hardy, and sat gloomily gazing about him.  For some time neither of them spoke.

“Where is Jack now?” inquired the girl, at last.  “He is staying with me for a few days,” said Hardy.  “I sincerely hope that the association will not be injurious to him.”

“Are you trying to be rude to me?” inquired Miss Nugent, raising her clear eyes to his.

“I am sorry,” said Hardy, hastily.  “You are quite right, of course.  It was not a nice thing to do, but I would do a thousand times worse to please you.”

Miss Nugent thanked him warmly; he seemed to understand her so well, she said.

“I mean,” said Hardy, leaning forward and speaking with a vehemence which made the girl instinctively avert her head—­“I mean that to please you would be the greatest happiness I could know.  I love you.”