After dinner the three sat out on the terrace of the hotel, in the delicious warmth of the September night. There were boats on the water, decked with coloured lanterns; music and song proceeded from several of them and every influence was harmonious. Nevertheless by the time Macarthy had finished a cigar it was judged best that the old lady should withdraw herself from the evening air. She went into the salon of the hotel, and her children accompanied her, against her protest, so that she might not be alone. Macarthy liked better to sit with his mother in a drawing-room which the lamps made hot than without her under the stars. At the end of a quarter of an hour he became aware that his sister had disappeared, and as some time elapsed without her returning he asked his mother what had become of her.
'I guess she has gone to walk with Sir Rufus,' said the old lady, candidly.
'Why, you seem to do everything Sir Rufus wants, down here!' her son exclaimed. 'How did he get such a grip on you?'
'Well, he has been most kind, Macarthy,' Mrs. Grice returned, not appearing to deny that the Englishman's influence was considerable.
'I have heard it stated that it's not the custom, down here, for young girls to walk round—at night—with foreign lords.'
'Oh, he's not foreign and he's most reliable,' said the old lady, very earnestly. It was not in her nature to treat such a question, or indeed any question, as unimportant.
'Well, that's all right,' her son remarked, in a tone which implied that he was in good-humour and
