The Real Charlotte, 283 



Tommy Whitty was turning into an awful cad, and felt 

 that she would have given a good deal to have wiped 

 out some lively passages in her previous acquaintance 

 with him. 



At the end of half an hour Mr. Whitty was still with them, 

 irrepressibly intimate and full of reminiscence. Lambert, 

 after determined efforts to talk to Francie, as if unaware of 

 the presence of a third person, had sunk into dangerous 

 silence, and Francie had ceased to see the amusing side of 

 the situation, and was beginning to be exhausted by much 

 walking to and fro. The sun set in smoky crimson behind 

 the town, the sun-set gun banged its official recognition of 

 the fact, followed by the wild, clear notes of a bugle, and a 

 frosty after-glow lit up the sky, and coloured the motionless 

 water of the harbour. A big bell boomed a monotonous 

 summons to afternoon service, and people began to leave 

 the pier. Those who had secured the entree of the St. 

 George's Yacht Club proceeded comfortably thither for tea, 

 and Lambert felt that he would have given untold sums for 

 the right to take Francie in under the pillared portico, leav- 

 ing Tommy Whitty and his seedy black coat in outer dark- 

 ness. The party was gloomily tending towards the station, 

 when the happy idea occurred to Mr. Lambert of having 

 tea at the Marine Hotel ; it might not have the distinction 

 of the club, but it would at all events give him the power of 

 shaking off that damned presuming counter-jumper, as in 

 his own mind he furiously designated Mr. Wliitty. 



" I'm going to take you up to the hotel for tea, Francie," 

 he said decisively, and turned at once towards the gate of 

 the Marine gardens. " Good evening, Whitty." 



The look that accompanied this valedictory remark was 

 so conclusive that the discarded Tommy could do no more 

 than accept the position. Francie would not come to his 

 help, being indeed thankful to get rid of him, and he could 

 only stand and look after the two figures, and detest Mr. 

 Lambert with every fibre of his little heart. The coffee- 

 room at the hotel was warm and quiet, and Francie sank 

 thankfully into an armchair by the fire. 



" I declare this is the nicest thing I've done to-day," she 

 said, with a sigh of tired ease ; " I was dead sick of walking 

 up and down that old pier." 



