“Here goes, then! I’ll start this instant. They are all out driving, except Miss Courtenay. I see her in the garden yonder. She, I know, will forgive me my abrupt departure, and you’ll make the best story you can out of it, Mr. M’Kinlay. As I was last seen in your company, you’ll be obliged, for your own sake, to say something plausible.”
“I will do my best, Sir. The eccentric habits of a sea-life must bear the burden of the explanation.”
“It’s poor comfort that I can’t be much missed! Good-by!” And, without any more cordial leave-taking, Luttrell turned into a side-path that led directly to the house, while M’Kinlay entered the garden and made straight for the sea-wall, on which Miss Courtenay was sitting, awaiting him.
“Well?” said she, impatiently, as he came forward—“well?”
“It is done—all finished!”
“In what way? How is it finished?”
“He goes away—goes at once!”
“Of course he writes a note, and makes some sort of excuse to my brother-in-law for his hurried departure?”
“I believe not. I fear—that is, I apprehend—he is one of those not very tractable people who always do an awkward thing in the awkwardest way; for when I explained to him that his position here was—what shall I say?—an indiscretion, and that Miss Vyner’s friends saw with uneasiness the growing intimacy between them——”
“You did not speak of me—you did not mention my name, I hope?” broke she in, in an imperious tone.