“Oh, no,” cried her ladyship.  “I should be delighted.  The moon fulls to-night Am I right, Temple?”

A few minutes later Edmonson and Bulchester having strolled down to the beach confronted one another there in silence, until the sound of a wave breaking seemed to rouse their surprise into speech.

“Edmonson,” exclaimed the smaller man, “for once you are at fault.  You did not describe her at all.”

“The—!” cried Edmonson with a black look.  “I was never so amazed in my life.  What has got into the girl?  She is a different creature.  That present air of hers would take in London; better even than in this out-of-the-world hole, it would be more appreciated.  And what thousands she has to carry it off well, or I ought to say, to carry it on well.  That good-for-nothing,” he added, “does not even understand his luck.”  There was an undertone in his voice which gave the bitter laugh with which he tried to hide it an intensity that made Bulchester look at him anxiously.

“You don’t mean that you admire her so much as that?” he asked.  Edmonson laughed again.

“My admiration of any woman will not injure my digestion.  I believe you know my ideas on that subject.  But such a figure for the head of one’s table, and such golden accompaniments to her presentablity—­all mine, you know, or to be mine, and here this young lordship steps in between.  Lordship; indeed! he thinks himself no less than a duke by his airs.  But I—.”  He stopped, and ground his teeth to swallow his rage, and his face was so lowering that the other cried in trepidation: 

“What are you going to do, Edmonson?  Nothing,—­nothing—­uncomfortable, you know, I hope?”

Edmonson turned slowly upon him with the blackness of his look lightening into a smile as different from mirth as the brassy gleam behind a thundercloud is from sunshine.  “What concerns your lordship?” he asked contemptuously.  “Do you imagine that I shall forget my station?”

“Or your position as guest?”

“Or my ‘position as guest?’ No, indeed,” sneered his listener.  “What has come over you, Bulchester?” he added.  “For how long are you engaged for this role of dictator?  I shall leave until it is over, you do it so badly.”  And he turned on his heel, grinding the pebbles under it hard as he did so.

“Nonsense, stay where you are, I beg,” cried Bulchester with an assumption of indifference in his manner, and a tone of humility so incongruous that Edmonson glancing over his shoulder smiled in scorn, and having remained in that position a moment, came back to his little squire, and said impressively: 

“Bulchester, we are beginning to burn; something will turn up here.  I can’t tell you why, but I feel it.”

“You mean that you have a clue?  That the name amounts to anything?” cried the other excitedly.  “That you have found—?”

“Hush!” interrupted Edmonson.  “Lady Dacre!  Yes, I have found the air here delightful.  My tedious headache is wearing away already.  And here comes her ladyship to make us appreciate our blessings still more.  Say, Bul,” he added in a quick undertone as he was about moving forward to meet the new-comer, “how good does one have to be among this set?  Have you any idea?”