“But indeed you do not appear fit to walk alone,” he remonstrated.  “You must allow me to see you safely home.”

Drawing her hand within his own quite as a matter of course, as he had done many a time in days gone by, he proceeded to assist her down the pier.  Lady Isabel, conscious of her own feelings, felt that it was not quite the thing to walk thus familiarly with him, but he was a sort of relation of the family—­a connection, at any rate—­and she could find no ready excuse for declining.

“Have you seen Lady Mount Severn lately?” he inquired.

“I saw her when I was in London this spring with Mr. Carlyle.  The first time we have met since my marriage; and we do not correspond.  Lord Mount Severn had paid us two or three visits at East Lynne.  They are in town yet, I believe.”

“For all I know; I have not seen them, or England either, for ten months.  I have been staying in Paris, and got here yesterday.”

“A long leave of absence,” she observed.

“Oh, I have left the army.  I sold out.  The truth is, Lady Isabel—­for I don’t mind telling you—­things are rather down with me at present.  My old uncle has behaved shamefully; he has married again.”

“I heard that Sir Peter had married.”

“He is seventy-three—­the old simpleton!  Of course this materially alters my prospects, for it is just possible he may have a son of his own now; and my creditors all came down upon me.  They allowed me to run into debt with complacency when I was heir to the title and estates, but as soon as Sir Peter’s marriage appeared in the papers, myself and my consequence dropped a hundred per cent; credit was stopped, and I dunned for payment.  So I thought I’d cut it altogether, and I sold out and came abroad.”

“Leaving your creditors?”

“What else could I do?  My uncle would not pay them, or increase my allowance.”

“What are your prospects then?” resumed Lady Isabel.

“Prospects!  Do you see that little ragged boy throwing stones into the harbor?—­it is well the police don’t drop upon him,—­ask him what his prospects are, and he will stare you in the face, and say, ‘None.’  Mine are on a like par.”

“You may succeed Sir Peter yet.”

“I may, but I may not.  When those old idiots get a young wife—­”

“Have you quarreled with Sir Peter?” interrupted Lady Isabel.

“I should quarrel with him as he deserves, if it would do any good, but I might get my allowance stopped.  Self interest, you see, Lady Isabel, is the order of the day with most of us.”

“Do you propose staying in Boulogne long?”

“I don’t know.  As I may find amusement.  Paris is a fast capital, with its heated rooms and its late hours, and I came down for the refreshment of a few sea dips.  Am I walking too fast for you?”

“You increased your pace alarmingly when you spoke of Sir Peter’s marriage.  And I am not sorry for it,” she added, good-naturedly, “for it has proved to me how strong I am getting.  A week ago I could not have walked half so fast.”