CHAPTER III.
"Manners Maketh Man."
"Do you mind my smoking?" began Mr. Lang, after a moment's keen scrutiny of the graceful figure beside him. Hardly waiting for permission, he produced a gold case and lighted a cigarette. "Been playing tennis, haven't you?" he continued in an off-hand way. "Stupid game, not half so good as golf—you should try golf."
"I have tried it, and I don't like it."
"Beginners seldom do. It's a fine game, for all that. You live with your aunt, don't you?"
"Yes, in Victoria Square."
"Do you like Beachbourne?"
She hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes."
"I suppose it's like all these provincial towns—heaps of gossip and scandal, eh? But you should be in London now, Mrs. Burnside. There hasn't been as gay a season for years. I shouldn't be here now, I can tell you, but I got a touch of fever last time I was at Johannesburg, and, as I can't quite shake it off, my doctor ordered me complete rest for a fortnight. So I came down here to stay with the Stevensons. I met them last year at Homburg, and ever since they've been pestering me with invitations to Beachbourne."