“And just after what I had said to him,” muttered Gartram. “The insolent young scoundrel! The miserable, contemptible pauper! How dare he?”
But Glyddyr’s behaviour was perfect, and excited Gartram’s wonder.
“He can’t have seen what I did,” he thought, “or he would never talk to her so coolly.”
For, ignoring everything, and as if he was blind to what had passed, Glyddyr dashed at once into a series of inquiries about Danmouth, and the weather in the winter.
“Do the storms affect the place much?” he said, looking at Claude.
“Knock the pots off sometimes, and always wash the slates clean,” said Mary, before Claude could reply.
“Not pleasant for the inhabitants,” said Glyddyr, after giving Mary a quick, amused glance before turning again to Claude. “But at the Fort, of course, you are too high up for the waves to reach?”
“Salt spray coats all the windows, and makes the walls shine,” interposed Mary.
“What will he think of me?” thought Claude; and then she wondered that she did not feel sorry, but that all the time, in spite of her father’s fiercely sullen looks, a peculiar kind of joy seemed to pervade her breast.
Glyddyr talked on, but he was completely talked down by Mary, who felt that the kindest thing she could do was to draw every one’s attention from her cousin, till they had passed through the little town, and nearly reached the Fort, where they were met by a rough-looking workman, who ran unceremoniously towards them, caught hold of Gartram roughly, and cried out, in wild excitement,—