He would hide his fire and be more like that cursed boy.

That would be a new way.

She liked new things.
He left the summer house, only the roof of which was touched by the last golden rays of the sun, and with curious cunning adopted a sort of caricature of his old light manner.

There was a queer jauntiness in his walk as he made his way over the sand, carrying his hat, and a flippant note in his voice when he arrived at her side.
"Waiting for your ship to come home ?" he asked.
"It's come," she said.
"You have all the luck, don't you ?" She choked back a sob.
He saw the new look on her face.

Something,--perhaps boredom,--perhaps the constant companionship of that cursed boy,--had brought her down from her high horse.