His wife's clenched rein-hand in its lemon-coloured glove, her stiff erect figure, clad in velvet and lace, and her boldly-outlined face, passed on, exhibiting their owner as one fixed for ever above the level of her companion--socially by her early breeding, and materially by her higher cushion.
Barnet decided to allow them a proper time to themselves, and then stroll down to the shore and drive them home.

After lingering on at the house for another hour he started with this intention.

A few hundred yards below 'Chateau Ringdale' stood the cottage in which the late lieutenant's daughter had her lodging.

Barnet had not been so far that way for a long time, and as he approached the forbidden ground a curious warmth passed into him, which led him to perceive that, unless he were careful, he might have to fight the battle with himself about Lucy over again.

A tenth of his present excuse would, however, have justified him in travelling by that road to-day.
He came opposite the dwelling, and turned his eyes for a momentary glance into the little garden that stretched from the palings to the door.