himself a mark of interest; though probably using no effort of his own in the process.
He walked slowly towards those susceptible young ladies, and a change came over them all: that change from apathy to interest which the presence of such a man is sure to bring. Perhaps there was not a girl sitting there but would have been glad to be his chosen, what with his own attractions and his fair prospects in life.
He shook hands with some, he chatted with others, he had a pleasant look and word for all; but Helen Vaughan contrived to monopolize him—as she generally did. He thought nothing yet of her doing so, for he was accustomed to the homage of women. He never suspected she had any particular motive in it; most certainly he did not suspect that she was permitting herself to become seriously attached to him.
“How is Lady Grey,?” called out Fanny Darlington.
“Thank you,” he replied, “she is not well this morning. I begged her not to think of coming on the sands to-day.”
“How vexatious! " exclaimed Miss Vaughan. “Vexatious that she should be ill, and vexatious on my own account,” she added, with a fascinating smile. “You see this work that I am doing, Mr. Grey?”
“Very complicated work it seems to be,” was his laughing reply, as he glanced at the fragile fabric of threads she held out to him.
“I cannot get on with it, do you know. I am doing it under Lady Grey’s instructions, and cannot tell which part to take up next. If I thought mamma would not mind my walking alone through the streets, I would go to your house, and take them from her. Is she well enough to see friends?” continued the young lady, quickly.
“Quite well enough.”
“I think I must go to her for instructions, then. It is so tiresome to be at a standstill. Besides, I am working against time; this is for a wedding present.”
“I can tell you how to go on with it, if you choose,” interrupted Augusta Lake. “There’s not the least necessity for your troubling Lady Grey.”
Helen Vaughan shook her head dubiously.
“But if you should tell me wrong?—and I had the work to pick out again! No, I would rather trust to Lady Grey, as she has shown me all throughout. Would it be troubling her too much, Mr. Grey?” appealing to him with her handsome eyes.
“On the contrary, I think my mother would be glad to receive you,” he replied. “On I these monotonous mornings, when she is confined to the sofa, she is often pleased at the sight of a visitor.”
Helen Vaughan rose, but she did not move away; she stood where she was, and seemed to be lost in perplexed deliberation.
“I scarcely know what to be at; mamma has so great a dislike to our walking through the streets alone.” Augusta Lake’s lip curled scornfully, and she did not take any pains to hide it.
“Will you accept of my escort?” asked the gentleman. Could he say anything less?
“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed Helen, with a rosy flush. “Though I am extremely sorry to give you the trouble, Mr. Grey.”
He had taken a step or two by her side when he found himself impeded. A little pale lad had come up, and was pulling him backwards. He wore a plain brown-holland tunic dress, and his straw hat had a bit of straw-coloured ribbon tied round it. There was nothing about the child to tell his quality or condition; his attire might have been equally worn by one of no degree, or by a son of her Majesty the Queen.
“Hey, Frank! Where did you spring from?”
“Mamma’s there, She said I might run to you.”
“Who is that child, Mr. Grey?” came the eager inquiry, for the gossiping young ladies had recognised him for the one of whom they had been making mention.
Mr. Grey caught the boy in his arms and perched him on his shoulder.
“Tell who you are, Frank.”
Master Frank did not choose to speak; he was shy. One hand stole round Frederick Grey’s neck; the fingers of the other he inserted in his own mouth.
“The child was here yesterday with a black servant,” began Miss Lake, “but———"
“It was Pompey,” interrupted the boy, finding his tongue. “Put me down, please, Mr. Grey; I want to go for my spade.”
“There you are, then,” he returned, depositing him on his legs. " But, Frank, I am ashamed of you. Not to tell your name when you are asked it!”
“It’s Frank,” said the boy, running away over the sand.
“Who is he really, Mr. Grey? "
“Lord Oakburn.”
“Lord Oakburn! The young Earl of Oakburn, who was born when his father died?”
“The same,” said Mr. Grey. “He is a somewhat delicate boy, and Lady Oakburn has brought him here for a month’s sea-bathing.”
“It was his mother we saw you so amiable