Crickledon eyed him as he walked away to the beach to look for his daughter, and conceived that there was a touch of the soldier in him.
CHAPTER IV
Annette Smith’s delight in her native England made her see beauty and kindness everywhere around her; it put a halo about the house on the beach, and thrilled her at Tinman’s table when she heard the thunder of the waves hard by. She fancied it had been a most agreeable dinner to her father and Mr. Herbert Fellingham—especially to the latter, who had laughed very much; and she was astonished to hear them at breakfast both complaining of their evening. In answer to which, she exclaimed, “Oh, I think the situation of the house is so romantic!”
“The situation of the host is exceedingly so,” said Mr. Fellingham; “but I think his wine the most unromantic liquid I have ever tasted.”
“It must be that!” cried Van Diemen, puzzled by novel pains in the head. “Old Martin woke up a little like his old self after dinner.”
“He drank sparingly,” said Mr. Fellingham.
“I am sure you were satirical last night,” Annette said reproachfully.
“On the contrary, I told him I thought he was in a romantic situation.”
“But I have had a French mademoiselle for my governess and an Oxford gentleman for my tutor; and I know you accepted French and English from Mr. Tinman and his sister that I should not have approved.”