"Please what?" demanded Sister Mildred.
"Do not blame her. She does not deserve it. I do."
He went softly down the stairs and let himself out. John Bent was standing at his door as Harry came in view of the Dolphin, and the young man crossed over. But, when he got up, John had disappeared indoors. There was no mistaking that the movement was intentional, or the feeling that caused the landlord to shun him. Harry Castlemaine stood still by the bench, evidently very much annoyed. Presently he began to whistle, slowly and softly, a habit of his when in deep thought, and looked up and down the road, as if uncertain which way he should take.
A knot of fishermen had gathered round the small boats on the beach, and were talking together less lazily than usual: possibly, and indeed probably, their exciting theme was the morning's news. One of them detached himself from the rest and came up towards the Dolphin, remarking that he was going to "wet his whistle." Mr. Tim Gleeson in a blue nightcap.
To judge by his flushed face and his not altogether steady gait, the whistle had been wetted already. When he saw Mr. Harry Castlemaine standing there, he came straight up to him, touching his cap. That trifling mark of respect he did observe: but when he had got a glass within him, there was no such hail-fellow-well-met in all Greylands as Tim Gleeson. He would have accosted Mr. Castlemaine himself.
"In with the tide, Gleeson?" remarked Harry--who was always pleasant with the men.
"Her's just gone out, sir," returned Gleeson, alluding to the boat. "I didn't go in her."
"Missed her, eh?" A misfortune Mr. Gleeson often met with.
"Well, I did miss of her, as might be said. I was a-talking over the news, Mr. Harry, with Tuff and one or two on 'em, and her went and put off without me."
Harry wondered he was not turned off the boat altogether. But he said nothing: he ceased to take notice of the man, and resumed his whistling. Gleeson, however, chose to enter upon the subject of the "news," and applied a hard word to Jane.