"You don't mean Mr. Bunting?"
"Who is Mr. Bunting?"
"The other gentleman who———"
"No!"
"There was no one———"
"But several mornings ago?"
"Could it have been Mr. Melville?. . . I know! You mean Mr. Chatteris! I remember, he came down with us one morning. A tall young man with fair—rather curlyish you might say—hair, wasn't it? And a rather thoughtful face. He was dressed all in white linen and he sat on the beach."
"I fancy he did," said the Sea Lady.
"He's not my son. He's—he's a friend. He's engaged to Adeline, to the elder Miss Glendower. He was stopping here for a night or so. I daresay he'll come again on his way back from Paris. Dear me! Fancy my having a son like that!"
The Sea Lady was not quite prompt in replying.
"What a stupid mistake for me to make!" she said slowly; and then with more animation, "Of course, now I think, he's much too old to be your son!"
"Well, he's thirty-two!" said Mrs. Bunting with a smile.
"It's preposterous."
"I won't say that."
"But I saw him only at a distance, you know," said the Sea Lady; and then, "And so he is engaged to Miss Glendower? And Miss Glendower———?"
"Is the young lady in the purple robe who———"
"Who carried a book?"
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