He looked at her gratefully. What a fetching kind of a face she had! He didn't know whether there was a really pretty feature in it, but that didn't matter. It had been a devilish set of circumstances that had obliged him to break off with her; yes, a devilish set. He had done it as honorably as he could; but he had never liked to think of his behavior at that time. It was such an immense relief to know that she didn't bear malice.
"Well," he said, abruptly, "I'll go now. Good-by."
He held out his hand, and Prudence put her fingers in it for the briefest space of time.
He ran down the stable stairs and down the slope of beach.
As he lifted his anchor to fling it into his boat, a crow flew down between him and the anchor, cawing as it flew.
He started back with an exclamation.
"It's only Devil," called out the girl from the door, laughing gaily as she spoke.
"That's just what I thought it was," was the response.
Lord Maxwell gazed an instant after the bird, which flew up to where Prudence stood and perched on the threshold beside her, curving its black neck and looking down at the man.
Maxwell pushed out and spread his sail. At the bottom of all his thoughts concerning this meeting was a feeling of pique that, after all, Miss Ffolliott cared so little for his failure to marry her. But he ought to be glad of that. Did he want her sighing and dying for him?