His square, resolute face flushed as he saw her, but the hand with which he took off his hat was as steady as a rock.
"Good-morning, Miss Lisle," he said, making his voice heard above the dull roar of the sea and the shrill barking of the terrier.
Leslie held out one hand while she held the furiously struggling Dick with the other.
He took her hand in his huge fist, and dropped heavily on the shingle beside her.
"I didn't know you had a dog," he said, glancing at her and then at the dog, and then at the sea, as a man does who is so much head-over-heels in love that he cannot bear the glory of his mistress' face all at once.
"I haven't," said Leslie, laughing in the slow, soft way which her adorers found so bewitching—and agonizing. "He doesn't really belong to me, though he pretends that he does. He is the abandoned little animal of Mrs. Merrick, our landlady; but he will follow me about and make a nuisance of himself. Be quiet, Dick, or I shall send you home."
"I'm not surprised," said Ralph Duncombe, with a slight flush, and still avoiding her eyes. "I can sympathize with Dick."
Leslie colored, and took up her work, leaving Dick to wander gingerly round the visitor and smell him inquisitively.
"You got my letter, Miss Leslie?"
"No," she said. "I am very sorry; but papa lost it."