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  THE LONELY Clare was pretty and kind and capable, and more than one eligible young man would have been glad to win her heart. So it was by a perverse trick of fate that she had to fall in love with David, who distrusted women and had no intention of ever getting married.

  HARLEQUIN PRINTED IN CANADA

  OTHER Harlequin Romances by ANNE WEALE 901@ HOPE FOR TOMORROW 9] 4@DOCTOR IN MALAYA (Originally published under the title 'Three Weeks in Eden') 1007@THE FEAST OF SARA 1027@THE LONELY. SHORE 1 ]23@THE SEA WAIF 1423@SULLIVAN'S REEF 1512@THAT MAN SIMON (Originally published under the title'Summer Lightning')

  Many of these titles are available at your local bookseller, or through the Harlequin Reader Service. For a free catalogue listing all available Harlequin Romances, send your name and address to: HARLEQUIN READER SERVICE, M.P.d Box 707, Niagara Falls, N.Y. 14302 -Canadian address: Stratford, Ontario, Canada. or use order coupon at back of book. THE LONELY SHORE BY ANNE WEALE TORONTO HARLEQUIN BOOKS WINNIPEG First published in 1964 by Mills & Boon Limited, 50 Graiton Way. Fiteroy Square, London, England Harlequin edinon published July, 1866 Reprinted 1966 ' Reprinted 1971 Reprinted 1972 Reprinted 1973 All the characters In Ms book have no existence outside (he imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing (he same name or names. They are not even distantjy inspired by any individual faiown or unknown to the Author, and all She incidents are pure invention. TO,6.H
  CHAPTER ONE

  AS the bus jolted along the dusty coast road Clare reflected dryly that, in her desire to escape from London, she had certainly found her way to the extreme opposite of the smoky, bustling, overcrowded metropolis. For several miles now they had not passed a cottage and, after the lush green meadows and pretty woodland of the home counties through which she had travelled earlier in the day, the vast expanse of salt marshes and sand-dunes had a wild, desolate air. The only other passengers were a stout countrywoman clasping a laden shopping bag on her ample lap and an old man in leather gaiters who puffed steadily at a blackened brier pipe, staring at Clare with rheumy blue eyes as if she were some kind of freak. Presently they both got out at a crossroads, and the bus rattled on beside the seemingly endless marshes. At last they came to a straggling village and drew up outside a public-house. "This is your stop, miss!" The conductor handed down her suitcase and canvas grip. ' The only person in sight was a small boy, who informed her that Creek House was just a step up the road. The "step" proved to be a good mile, and, arriving at the white gate which the boy had mentioned, she set down her cases and rubbed her aching wrists. As she walked up the drive a large Boxer dog emerged from a shrubbery and bounded exuberantly towards her, its absurd stub of tail making mock of its powerful chest and aggressive muzzle. The doorbell appeared to be out of order and, having knocked several times without hearing any signs of movement inside, dare left her luggage in the porch and walked round the house in search of a back door. She had telegraphed her time of arrival, so presumably there was someone on the premises to greet her. The gravelled path led on to a lawn, and there,beneath a spreading beech tree, sat an old lady "and a schoolgirl. The old lady was sitting at an easel, and the child, who wore a bathing-suit and a shady straw hat, was evidently posing for her. Somehow the scene was quite unexpected, and Clare wondered if she had come to the wrong house, after all. Then the Boxer, which had been breathing heavily round her ankles, gave a sudden bark, and artist and model looked up. "Good afternoon. This is Creek House, isn't it?" Clare asked. They both stared at her in a startled fashion until the child said, "Are you Miss Drake?" '@ "Yes," dare smiled uncertainly. "I sent a telegram to say I would be arriving at four, but perhaps you didn't get it." "I expect Uncle David stuck it in his pocket and forgot to tell us," the child said. "Have you been pounding on the front door? The bell doesn't work." "So I gathered," Clare said dryly. "Titian hair!" the old lady said suddenly. "Perfect Titian hair!" She was gazing at the dark red hair which dare wore in a neat coil at the nape of her neck. "Is it dyed?" she asked sharply. "Why no!" "No, no, of course not. That glorious colour never came out of a bottle," the old lady said quickly. "I shall make you the subject of my next portrait, Miss . . . er ... ?" "Drake," dare supplied. "What extraordinary good fortune that you should have Titian hair. Miss Drake. I tried one of the village girls, you know, but her hair was that dreadful carroty red and she had acne as well @ most uninspiring, poor dear." "Are you hungry?" the child interrupted. "We've just had tea, so I should think the pot is still quite warm. .There's a slice of cake somewhere about if Josh hasn't sneaked it." She looked about and seized on a package of greaseproof paper lying on the grass. "Yes, here it is, and the tea-pot is under Aunt Leo's chair. We have to wrap the cake up because there's a wasps' nest in the wall over there." Since it was evident that she was not expected to stand on ceremony, dare sat down in a spare deck-chair and poured herself out some tea. There happened to be a third cup on the tray; originally intended, no doubt, for the absent uncle David. In the middle of her first bite of cake, she realized that they were staring at her again in that mildly perplexed fashion. She knew that her grey shantung suit and high-heeled shoes were hardly suitable for everyday life in a remote Norfolk village, but they could scarcely have expected her to travel from London in slacks and beach sandals. To distract their embarrassingly frank scrutiny she said, "I'm afraid I don't know your names." The old lady gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh dear, how very remiss of us," she said gaily. "I fear you will find us shockingly uncivilised, my dear. I am Leonora Lancaster, and this is my great-niece, Jenny Clifford." "Can we call you by your Christian name?" Jenny asked, scratching a midge bite on one skinny bare leg. Her skin was nut brown, and a scatter of freckles spilled over her bony forehead and snub nose. "If you wish. My name is dare." "It suits you," Miss Lancaster said. "I always think of dares as being very calm and composed, a little regal. Are you a calm person?" -"I don't know," Clare said uncertainly. "You'll need to be," Jenny said impishly. "Uncle David gets into the most fearful flaps when he loses his notes or his pipe. Sometimes it takes hows to soothe him!" "Is he at home now?" dare asked. "I think perhaps I ought to@@" "Oh gosh, no. He's out on the marsh studying Artemisia maritima. He won't be back till supper. Can you sail?" dare shook her head. "Uncle David is teaching me to sail the Curlew" Jenny said. "He'll teach you, too, if you like." / Miss Lancaster offered dare a cigarette, and fitted her own into a long ivory holder. Although she appeared to be in her late sixties, her manner belied her white hair and wrinkled cheeks. She had bright blue eyes matched by her cotton painting smock, and several handsome rings flashed on her still flexible hands. "Jenny is spending the summer with us," she explained. "My niece's husband is in the consular service in Siam, so it is quite impossible for her to spend all the school holidays with her parents." "I've got a pair of Siamese silver ear-rings for when I ,grow up," Jenny said. "I'll show them to you when we go indoors." "Perhaps dare would like to see her room now, my poppet. Why don't you take her up," Miss Lancaster suggested. With the dog Josh loping behind them they went indoors. 10 "We've put you in the room next to mine," Jenny said, leading the way upstairs when Clare had collected her baggage from the porch. "I'm afraid the boiler makes terrible gurgly noises in the night, but you'll soon get used to it." She had none of the giggling shyness common to children of her age, and Clare was a little amused by the mistress-of-the-house air with which she threw open the door at the end of the landing. The bedroom was small, with a sloping ceiling and
old-fashioned, painted furniture, but bright curtains fluttered at the window and a bowl of June roses stood on the dressing-table, filling the room with their delicate fragrance. "You can see the creek from here," Jenny said. "The tide is out now, but you'll hear the water lapping against the banks tonight." Clare sniffed the sharp sea-tang carried on the summer breeze. After the stale, petrol-laden London air, it was deliciously fresh and invigorating. "Can I watch you unpack?" Jenny asked. "Yes, of course." dare took off her jacket and unlocked her suitcase. While she hung her dresses in the wardrobe and folded her underclothes in the drawers of the tallboy, Jenny chatted companionably about the village and its inhabitants. "Uncle David has had one secretary already, you know," she said presently. "Her name was Winifreda Bunberry. She was absolutely ghastly, so-he got rid of her and wrote to Uncle James in London asking him to find a proper one." "What was so ghastly about Miss Bunberry?" dare asked, laughing. "Oh, she was terribly prim and stuffy and terrified of Josh." Jenny put an affectionate arm round the dog's neck. "And he's the sloppiest dog in Norfolk, you know. He wouldn't hurt a beetle, would you, darling?" "WeH, I hope I pass muster," Clare said. "At least, I'm not afraid of Josh." Jenny eyed her thoughtfully. "Actually you're much better than we expected," she said with engaging candour. "Have you been a secretary a long time? You look quite ^"I^n twenty-six and I've been working for eight years." dare put her portable radio on the bedside table. "Aren't you going to get married?" Jenny enquired. Clare laughed. "I hope so. If somebody-nice asks me!" "There are some quite nice men here," Jennie observed solemnly. "There's Jim Foster, the grocer's son, and Peter Andrews who has a farm on the other side of the village, and Paul Mallinson who lives at the Hall. He's absolutely smashing and very rich. He has two cars and a butler and a gold cigarette-case." "That must be fun." Clare hid a grin at this innocent catalogue of Mr. MaUinson's matrimonial assets. "Can I wash my hands?" she asked.Jenny slipped down from the window-seat. "I'll show you the bathroom."When dare had washed and retouched her make-up, they went down to the sitting-room, where Miss Lancaster was now ensconced in an arm-chair and listening to the six o'clock news. When the bulletin was over the old lady suggested that they should have a glass of sherry before supper."What made you take this post, my dear? she asked. "I was tired of living in a city," Clare said. "I was brought up in the country, and when I saw the advertise" ment in The Times, I thought it was an opportunity to get back.""I told her about Miss Bunberry, Aunt Leo, Jenny said."A dreadful woman!" Miss Lancaster remarked with an expression of acute distaste. "Of course my nephew 12 is not perhaps the easiest of employers, but no doubt his brother explained that to you at the interview." "I gathered that Mr. Lane-aster didn't suffer fools gladly," dare said, smiling. "Miss Bunberry was a complete fool," the old lady said bluntly. "However, you look a capable girl, and I dare say you won't burst into tears if my nephew flies off the handle occasionally." At that moment a strident female voice from another part of the house informed them that supper was^ ready. Miss Lancaster led the way to the dining-room, and as they sat down a massive middle-aged woman in a print dress bustled through from the kitchen with a large ham on a willow pattern plate.This was Hilda, the family treasure, and her speculative appraisal of dare was even more disconcerting than that of Miss Lancaster and Jenny. "Late again," Hilda said irritably when she had shaken hands. "Mr. David will be late for his own funeral if he don't take care." "I expect he'll be in soon," Miss Lancaster said mildly. "A good thing it isn't hot supper tonight," Hilda said sourly on her way out.dare would have enjoyed the excellent salad which accompanied the ham if she had not been slightly nervous of meeting her new employer on his return from studying Artemisia maritima, whatever that might be. . @ Her previous employers had been business men, and she was not sure what it would be like to work for a distinguished botanist with, it appeared, an uncertain temper. His brother, who had conducted a proxy interview in London, was a barrister; a slightly pompous yet kindly and extremely courteous man. He had explained that David Lancaster was compiling a book on coastal plant life, and needed an efficient secretary for an approximate period of four months. Clare had admitted frankly that she had no botanical knowledge, and James Lancaster had said that this did not matter so long as she was a good shorthand-typist and did not mind erratic working hours. The salary was excellent, considering that full board would be provided, and the thought of four summer months by the sea had decided her. She had accepted the post. Her mental picture of Mr. Lancaster was of an extremely learned, irascible middle-aged scholar, so that when someone came 'whistling across the lawn and a tall, dark-haired man in his early thirties appeared at the french windows, she took him for a friend of the family @ possibly the "smashing" Paul Mallinson whom Jenny had mentioned. "You're fifteen minutes late, David," Miss Lancaster said severely. "Hilda is very cross with you. This is my nephew," she added to dare. "David, this is Miss Clare Drake." Clare choked on a lettuce leaf. If she had been surprised by the old lady and Jenny, she was completely . taken off guard by her employer. He had nothing at all in common with her preconception of him. He was very tall and loosely built, with close-cropped black hair and a deep tan. In. his faded shirt and saltstained denim trousers he looked more like a seaman than an authority on plants. They shook hands. His grip was firm, and she noticed that his palm had a hard, dry texture. "Miss Drake says she sent a telegram," Miss Lancaster said. "Oh lord, yes. I stuck it in my pocket and forgot to tell you, Did you have any trouble finding the house?" he asked dare. "No, a small boy in the village told me the way." "If youll excuse me, I'll get cleaned up," he said. "Why did you choke and look startled when you saw Uncle David?" Jenny asked when he had left the room. dare hesitated. "I expected Mr. Lancaster to be much older," she replied. "He's thirty-one," Jenny informed her. "His birthday was last week. We took him over to Sheringham to the pictures, didn't we, Aunt Leo? And we had a gorgeous winkle supper afterwards." "Yes, and you were sick half the night," Hilda said tartly, coming in with a blancmange surrounded by strawberries. "Well, it was worth it," Jenny asserted. "I don't mind being sick on winkles. Besides, Uncle David gave me some rum to settle my tummy. Do you like rum, Clare?" "I don't think I've ever had any," Clare answered. "Uncle David drinks gallons. He says it keeps out the cold and fortifies the nerves." Jenny gazed rapturously at me strawberries which her aunt had just passed to her. "In spite of that slanderous statement, I am not an alcoholic, Miss Drake," David Lancaster said, tweaking Jenny's pigtails as he passed her chair. He had changed into flannels and a thick sweater. "She says we may call her Clare," Jenny told him. "Indeed." He sat down at the head of the table and carved himself some ham. "What part of the country do you come from?" "Somerset," Clare said. "My parents had a farm near Wells until I was twelve." "You'll find this a bleak coast in comparison with the West Country. So far it has been an exceptionally fine summer, but on a bad day we get the full force of the northerly gales." "I hope you brought plenty of warm clothes, my dear," Miss Lancaster said. "The air is very bracing and the nights are often chilly even in midsummer." "Yes, Mr. Lancaster's brother warned me of that," dare said. "She has a suspender belt made of yellow ribbons," Jenny announced admiringly. 15 dare flushed slightly. Jenny looked like being something of an enfant terrible. After the meal, Lancaster asked her to accompany him to the study to discuss her work. As soon as he opened the door she made a mental note that her first job would be to have a thorough spring cleaning. The room was chaotic. Books and papers littered every available space, and a steel filing cabinet in the comer bulged w'th disordered documents. A large shrimping net and a coil of rope had been tossed on to the arm-chair, and an aquarium full of seaweed stood on the desk. Lancaster swept the arm-chair clear and gestured for her to sit down. He made no apology for the turmoil, and dare guessed that he was quite unaware of it. "I'm afraid the typewriter is rather an ancient model," he said, indicating a battered-looking machine on a table by the window. "Between my last secretary^ departure and your arrival, I've made a fair number of notes, so I t
hink you could spend the first couple of days typing them out before we start work on the main draft. My writing is reasonably legible, but if there is anything you aren't sure of you had better consult me. Some of the Latin names are a bit tricky." He took a pipe from a jar on the mantelshelf and filled it from a stained leather pouch. "YOUII find I work in fits and starts. Miss Drake. It largely depends on the weather. While this fine spell lasts I shall be out on the marshes most of the day, but we can make up for lost time when it rains." "What about your correspondence, Mr. Lancaster?" dare asked. "I take it you wish me to deal with that also?" "There isn't a great deal. If I've any business letters I'll dictate them after breakfast, and so long as you catch the four o'clock post you can do them when it suits'you. Oh, one other thing. I'm preparing a paper for the British Ecological Society next month, and I shall want that 16 typed out and several copies made. Now, I think that's all. We'll have our coffee in the sitting-room." Jenny went to bed at half-past eight, and soon afterwards Clare said good night. As her employer opened the door for her, she thought she saw a hint of displeasure in his glance. No doubt, after his dissatisfaction with the erstwhile Miss Bunberry, he was wary of secretaries and was dubious of her efficiency. In her room, Clare changed into a house-coat and curled up on the window-seat to write to her brother about her arrival at Creek House. Hal was her twin, the elder by twenty minutes, and although he had been in Kenya for the past year, they exchanged letters regularly, for there was a strong bond of affection between them. Their parents had been killed in an air-raid on a day trip to Portsmouth during the war, and Hal and Clare had gone to live with a maiden aunt in London until they were old enough to earn their livings @ he as a civil engineer and she as a secretary. "The house overlooks a creek and a vast expanse of marsh," she wrote. "It is wonderfully quiet and peaceful after London, and I can hear the sea beating in the distance. Of course this is only a temporary post, but I shall avoid going back to London unless I am forced to do so." She paused, looking round the little room. Already she felt at home, with a curious sense of security that she had never really felt since she and Hal had been tragically uprooted from the farm in Somerset. When she had given notice to her former employer and explained her new job, he had thought her mad. "But what are you going to do at the end of the four months, Miss Drake?" he had asked, loath to lose a secretary who combined efficiency, discretion and an attractive appearance. "I don't know," dare had admitted. It was impossible to explain to him her sudden longing for the country17 side, for the placid closely-knit atmosphere of village life. Now, with the sea-wind whispering in the creeper outside her window and the swish of the tide filling the creek, she knew she had been right to come. Finishing her letter, she looked out into the darkness. Suddenly a door opened below her and Miss Lancaster's tinkling laugh drifted up. dare lit a cigarette and made a note to go into the village tomorrow for a petrol capsule for her lighter. Then her attention was arrested by David Lancaster's voice saying curtly, "Well, I suppose we shall have to put up with her now that she's here, but it's the last time I shall ask James to find a typist for me." "But, my dear David, she's charming!" Miss Lancaster's words carried clearly on the night air. "That wonderful hair and those slanting golden eyes!" "She could be bald and cross-eyed for all I care," he said brusquely. "What I want is efficiency @ not glamour!" "Nonsense, you were always complaining that the Bunberry woman was all gums and tombstone teeth," his aunt retorted. "Besides, even if this girl is unusually attractive, it doesn't follow that she is not efficient. I think she sec is most intelligent and capable." Clare had not intended to eavesdrop, but Lancaster's disparaging tone had stung her and she paused in the act of closing the window to hear what his reply would be. "It beats me what she has come here for," he said. "She can hardly expect to catch a husband in a place like dint, although I dare say she'll have a try if she meets Paul Mallinson." "You mustn't be bitter, David," Miss Lancaster said reprovingly. "All women are not alike, you know. I think Clare looks a thoroughly nice girl. She says she was brought up in the country, so it's quite natural that she 18 should want to get away from London. At least give her a chance to prove her ability." "If she makes a hash of my notes tomorrow, I'll send her packing and do the damned job myself," he said. Clare closed the window. Her contented mood had been completely shattered, and she felt a wave of cold dislike for a man who condemned her on so brief an acquaintance. She had a momentary impulse to go downstairs and tell him she was catching the first bus back to civilisation and he could type his book on two fingers for all she cared. Then she thought, No, hang the man, I'll stay here and show him that I may have red hair but I'm not a brainless, husband-hunting flibbertigibbet. Still fuming at the injustice of his criticism, she went along to the bathroom to clean her teeth. When she returned to her room she found Hilda setting a beaker of hot cholocate on the bedside table. "I thought this might help you to rest in a strange bed, miss," she said kindly. "Not that this bed isn't comfortable, mind, but there's some people as takes a night or two to settle to a mattress." "That's very good of you," dare said, touched by this thoughtfulness. Hilda gave her a sharp look. "You look quite peaked, miss. However, that's not to be wondered at, coming from London. How people can live in that smog I don't know." Her tone implied that London was perpetually enveloped in a pall of thick fog. "You're not on one of these nonsensical diets, are you?" she queried suspiciously. "No, I've got an enormous appetite," dare told her, smiling. Hilda grunted doubtfully. "Well, I'll say good night. Breakfast is at eight, but Miss Jenny is always up at first light and she'll bring you a cup of tea around half-past seven. The bathroom will be clear because Mr. David 19 has his shave at seven and Miss Lancaster has her breakfast in bed." "Good night. Thank you, again for the chocolate," dare said. As she climbed into bed and sipped the hot, creamy nightcap, she took a measure of comfort from the fact that Miss Lancaster and Hilda appeared to approve of her. * * * When Clare went down to breakfast the following ' morning, she found her employer screened by The Times. He acknowledged her presence with a curt "good morning", and as he retired behind the newspaper again Jenny, who was already attacking a bowl of cornflakes, put her finger to her lips as a warning signal that conversation was discouraged at the Creek House breakfast-table. A large dish of bacon and eggs stood on a hotplate, and dare 'made a good meal. As she was pouring herself a second cup of coffee, David Lancaster folded the paper and said, "You will find the notes I mentioned on my desk, Miss Drake. There's some typing paper in the cabinet. I shall be in at lunch-time, so if you have any queries you can check them with me then." "Can I come with you?" Jenny asked him eagerly. "I suppose so, menace." He grinned at her indulgently. dare had already made her bed and tidied her room, so she went straight to the study. To find the typing paper she had to turn everything out of the cabinet, and she decided that it would be best to reorganise the study before starting to transcribe the neat, closely written notes Lancaster had left on the desk. An hour later the room was almost unrecognisable. The desk top was clear except for an ash-tray and a blotter. The drawers of the cabinet slid smoothly shut, their contents neatly arranged. The bookshelves were dusted, the 20 overflow ranged on the window-sill. Even the grate, which had been littered with old pipe-cleaners and spent matches, was clear. Hilda, coming in with a mug of cocoa and a newly baked buttered scone, looked round in astonishment. "My word, what have you been up to, miss?" she exclaimed. "The place looks quite different ... as neat as a new pin!" "It's certainly a bit more workmanlike," dare uaid with satisfaction. "I don't know what Mr. David will say," Hilda observed. "He never allows me to clear up in here @ except to sweep round the carpet once in a while. Why, he went proper wild when that Miss Bunberry threw away some papers he wanted." "He may go as wild as he pleases with me," dare said with a touch of asperity. "I can't work properly in a muddle, and that's that." She was drinking the cocoa and making a list of necessary stationery when a shadow fell across her chair and a voice said, "Hallo. Who are you?" She looked up, startled. A fair-haired man
was smiting at her through the open window. "I'm Mr., Lancaster's new secretary." "Indeed!" The stranger's brows arched quizzically. "David certainly believes in variety. Is he around?" Gay brown eyes swept over her appraisingly. "He's out on the marshes with Jenny. Can I give him a message?" dare asked politely. He shook his head. "It's not important. Do you suppose Hilda has some cocoa to spare?" "Why yes, I expect so," she said uncertainly. Whoever he was, he was evidently on intimate terms with her employer. "Won't you come in?" For answer he swung himself over the window-ledge, revealing that he wore well-cut jodhpurs. "I'll go and ask Hilda," dare said. 21 Hilda had a cup of cocoa to spare, and from Clare's description of the visitor she said that it was Mr. Mallinson from the Hall. When Clare got back to the study, he was sitting on the desk, blowing smoke-rings. "What's your name?" he asked. "Mine's Mallinson, Paul Mallinson." "Clare Drake." So this was the man with two cars, a butler and a gold cigarette-case! He was certainly attractive in an insouciant, slightly raffish way. His fair hair fell across his forehead in a boyish lock, and he had a wide, mobile mouth. "When did you arrive?" he asked. "Yesterday." She tucked the stationery list in her pocket and inserted typing paper and carbons in the machine, preparatory to starting work. "What on earth brings a girl like you to this deadand-alive hole?" "It seems rather an attractive village," dare said. "In other words, your reasons are none of my business," he said good humouredly. "When you've been here a week you'll realise that in places like Clint we have 'an insatiable curiosity. There's nothing to do but gossip." "I'm afraid I shan't provide much grist for the mill,'8 Clare said. "I wouldn't be too sure." His eyes were admiring. "The very fact that you're young and glamorous should be enough to set the tongues wagging." It was evident that Mr. Mallinson did not have to employ much subtlety to dazzle the local belles, dare. thought. She smiled charmingly at him and said firmly, "If you're finished your cocoa I have rather a lot of work to do. I'll tell Mr. Lancaster you called." He looked a little startled by this polite dismissal, but he was not the type to be seriously discomposed, and with a cheery wave he departed via the window again. 22 When he had gone, dare's fingers flew over the typewriter keys, and by half-past twelve five pages of notes had been neatly transcribed and clipped together. Satisfied with her morning's work, she went upstairs to tidy herself. As she came down. Miss Lancaster wandered into the hall with some letters. "Ah, there you are, my dear. Hilda told me you were hard at work, so I didn't disturb you. I hear Paul called. What did you think of him?" "He seemed very pleasant," dare said non-committally. Miss Lancaster shot her a shrewd glance. "You sound a little doubtful." "I'm not very good at judging people on first impressions," dare said."Paul's trouble is that he has nothing to do," Miss Lancaster observed as they went into the sitting-room to await luncheon. "He has a great deal of money and leads a life of complete leisure. It isn't good for a man of that -age to be idle. He needs a wife.""I shouldn't have thought he would have had much difficulty in finding one if he is wealthy," dare commented. Miss Lancaster laughed. "Oh, the local matchmakers have been trying to catch him for years. He may be wild, but he isn't a fool; he won't be caught by anyone with an eye on his bank balance. Ah, that sounds like Jenny coming up the garden." Jenny bounced indoors in great excitement at having found a lump of amber on the beach. "Uncle David is going to have it polished for me," she announced, displaying her treasure. "How did you get on with my notes?" Lancaster asked Clare over luncheon. "I had no difficulty, thank you," she said coolly. "Perhaps you would like to check the typescript before. I go any farther?" "Don't forget you promised to take me sailing this afternoon," Jenny reminded him anxiously. "All right, baggage. We'll get started as soon as I've had a word with Miss Drake." i "Mr. Mallinson called this morning but left no message," dare said. "H'm, he hasn't lost much time," Lancaster said, and dare intercepted a faint, disapproving head-shake directed at him by his aunt. Although the significance of the remark was lost on her, it was clear from that fleeting expression of reproof on Miss Lancaster's face that it had been in some way cutting. This confirmed dare's impression that Lancaster was a disagreeable man. The very set of his head was arrogant, and there was something about his mouth that suggested he could be harsh, even cruel. Yet, she admitted reluctantly, when he smiled at Jenny his whole expression altered and one would take him for a kindly and humorous man. While the others were finishing their sweet, Lancaster excused himself to go into the study. A moment later there was an explosive curse from the hall, and in a tone of unmistakable wrath Clare was summoned to follow him. 24