Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. She appeared to be considering. But it was very hard to follow. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir.
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