"He ought. But he hasn't. You see, Susan, I don't know how it is, but you seem to have a way of making people do mad things. Gibson cares for you quite as much as Lord Ruddington does. But he hasn't done anything madder than Lord Ruddington's first letter, has he?"
"No, Miss," said Susan, mollified and visibly flattered. And, after a minute's pleasant meditation on the unsuspected range and power of her charms, she added prettily: "But Lord Ruddington does stop at home when I tell him to, Miss."
"That's true," I granted; "but Lord Ruddington has all the advantages. Poor Gibson is so frightfully handicapped. I suppose he thinks that all's fair in love and war. I'm annoyed with him for coming here, but I admire his spirit. Gibson isn't a muff, Susan."
"Oh, no, Miss," she answered promptly and heartily.
"In fact, this morning I felt quite vexed with Lord Ruddington for stepping between you. But I mustn't say more about that. I will come to the point. I have brought a message."
Susan's agitation began afresh.
"I've told Gibson he mustn't come here. He is lodging at Grandpont. At this minute he's getting something to eat in the village. But he will be on the beach at half-past two."
"To-day, Miss?" she asked faintly.
"Yes, to-day. You can please yourself whether you see him or not. But understand, Susan, I've told him it must be only this once. No meetings on the sly."
"Of course not, Miss," Susan answered, with a touch of indignation, which I ignored.