"I beg you to hear me.

When my father and I were at Weymouth we drove one afternoon across the neck of the Chesil beach to Portland." Chayne looked at Sylvia quickly.
"Yes ?" he said, and there was an indefinable change in his voice.

He had consented to listen, because she wished it.

Now he listened with a keen attention.

For a strange thought had crept into his mind.
"We drove up the hill toward the plateau at the top of the island, but as we passed through the village--Fortune's Well I think they call it--my father stopped the carriage at a tobacconist's, and went into the shop.
He came out again with some plugs of tobacco--a good many--and got into the carriage.