She forsook the crowded parade, and strolled down by the water’s edge. Presently she sat down under the shade of a boat, and surveyed the waters and the future. She felt very lonely. George had seemed inclined to be pleasant but now he had deserted her. She had no one to speak to. What was the use of being pretty and rich? Everything was very hard and she had done no real harm, and was a very, very miserable girl, and—— Under the shade of the boat, Neaera cried a little, choosing the moment when there were no passers-by.
But one who came from behind escaped her vigilance. He saw the gleam of golden hair, and the slim figure, and the little shapely head bowing forward to meet the gloved hands; and he came down the beach, and, standing behind her for a moment, heard a little gurgle of distress.
“I beg your pardon,” said he. “Can I help?”
Neaera looked up with a start. The upright figure, bravely resisting a growing weight of years, the iron-grey hair, the hooked nose, and pleasant keen eyes seemed familiar to her. Surely she had seen him in town!
“Why, it’s Mrs. Witt!” he said. “We are acquaintances, or we ought to be.” And he held out his hand, adding, with a smile, “I am Lord Mapledurham.”
“Oh!” said Neaera.
“Yes,” said the Marquis. “Now, I know all about it, and it’s a burning shame. And, what’s more, it’s all my fault.”
“Your fault?” she said, in surprise.
“However, I warned George Neston to let it alone. But he’s a hot-headed fellow.”