While her new admirer was in bed, or dressing, or breakfasting, she was springing along the road with all the elasticity of youth, and health, and native vigor, braced by daily exercise.
Twenty-one of these walks did she take, with no other result than health and appetite; but the twenty-second was more fertile--extremely fertile.
Starting later than usual, she passed through Gravesend while Reginald Falcon was smoking at his front window.

He saw her, and instantly doffed his dressing-gown and donned his coat to follow her.

He was madly in love with her, and being a man who had learned to shoot pigeons and opportunities flying, he instantly resolved to join her in her walk, get her clear of the town, by the sea-beach, where beauty melts, and propose to her.

Yes, marriage had not been hitherto his habit, but this girl was peerless: he was pledged by honor and gratitude to Phoebe Dale; but hang all that now.

"No man should marry one woman when he loves another; it is dishonorable." He got into the street and followed her as fast as he could without running.
It was not so easy to catch her.