CHAPTER XXVIII.
‘But It Shall Not Come Nigh Thee.’
Monday the 13th of October 189— rose a calm, lovely, sunny morning, with a light warm air from the W.N.W. breathing soft over the placid blue sea.
‘Good-morning, Lesbia, and many happy returns of the day to you, dear,’ said Mrs Whyte, meeting and kissing the young girl on her way downstairs, as she herself was coming in from the terrace garden about eight o’clock, or an hour before their usual breakfast time. ‘Not having anything more costly to present you with in this out-of-the-way place, I’ve made up this simple autumnal bouquet, hoping you’ll take the will for the deed.’
‘Oh thanks, my dear Mrs Whyte, how very pretty! one or two rich colours like those please me better than common variety; I'll put it in water at once in my room. And then do you think I could get to Stratton and back on my bicycle, without keeping breakfast waiting for me? I should so like to get Mr Whyte his paper the first thing this morning, as I saw he was in a fidget for it yesterday. I think I could be back a few minutes past nine.’
‘Well, since you’re ready dressed for it, I suppose I must let you go; it’s really very thoughtful of you; but don’t ride as if you were racing. We shall none of us starve to death, even if you should be a quarter of an hour late.’
‘Besides, after all, Mrs Whyte, you needn’t wait. If I
