"My father dropped it," she said, with an embarrassment which, slight as it was, did not escape him. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry that I didn't put it in my coat pocket instead of my waistcoat," he said. "But I knew if I did that I should forget it perhaps for weeks. I always forget letters that fellows ask me to post. So I put it in with my watch, that I might come across it when I looked at the time, and so it's got wet; but as it was opened you have read it, so that I hope it doesn't matter so much."
"No, I haven't read it. Papa always opens my letters—he doesn't notice the difference. It does not matter in the least; I know what was in it, thank you," she said, hurriedly.
"I wish some one would always open and read my letters, and answer them, too," said Yorke, devoutly, as he thought of the great pile of bills which awaited him every morning at breakfast. "Are you staying—I mean lodging, visiting here, Miss Lisle?" he asked, for the sake of saying something that would keep her by his side for at least a few minutes longer.
"Yes," said Leslie. "We are staying in 'The Street,' as it is called at Sea View."
Yorke was just about to remark, "I know," but checked himself, and said instead:
"It is a very pretty place, isn't it?"
"Very," assented Leslie; "and quiet. There is no prettier place on the coast than Portmaris."
"So I should think," he said, looking round, then returning to the beautiful face. "I am a stranger, and only arrived an hour or two ago." He looked down, trying to think of something else to say, anything that would keep her; but could think of nothing.
Leslie stood for a moment, silent, too, then she said: