"who are so interested for her—what is your
office? What is to be your relation to her, if I
might ask? Do they not say she is to marry
you?"

Vivian coloured. "That would be my greatest
happiness, and I do look forward to it one
day."

"Ah!" interrupted the other, fiercely; "I
see. The usual generality! I can see what
that means. That will not impose on me.
I have watched you. I can see behind that
trick. There is some game being played; and
perhaps Heaven may put it into my hands to
frustrate it."

"What do you mean?" said the other,
turning still paler.

"Not from any love to her: I owe her
nothing. But with you I can reckon. There
is some mystery in this hanging back. How
confused you grow! I am right. By Heaven,
l am!"

"This is all madness," said Vivian, turning
away.

"Yes," said West; "but you shall find I
have method, too. Now we understand each
other, Colonel Vivian; and let her understand
me, and tell her her cruel and unkind words
have sunk into my heart. God forgive her!"

"That is all for yourself," said Vivian,
excitedly. "And I warn you, in return, we shall
be on our guard; and I tell you, plainly, any
frantic step on your side shall be met on mine
in a way you little dream of."

"Good," said the other. "We understand
each other now!"

But we, who know what sort of a place
Dieppe was, its surprising sensitiveness to the
smallest rumour or whisper of a rumour, can
conceive that such a momentous adventure as
Lucy's must permeate the place like water
through a gravelly soil.

Before the evening came, Mr. Blacker,
the official scandal-monger, was in possession
of some strange details. He had become
inflated with the vast importance of the matter,
and had gone express to Mrs. Dalrymple.
"Such an awkward, such a very doubtful
business! God forbid, ma'am, it was my
daughter. West, I am told, found her down at
that little dirty guinguette, actually sitting with
some low Frenchman. I am afraid, badly
brought up; but you know, with that harum-
scarum father, what could you expect?"

Mrs. Dalrymple, who had always been partial
to West, and knew his worth, had long ago
"turned" against Lucy. She now spoke
warmly. "I am afraid I could believe anything
of that girl. You know how lightly and
cruelly she treated poor Gilbert West. The
man is suffering there before her eyes, and she
hasn't even a kind look or word for him."

"Oh! but, my dear lady," said Mr. Blacker,
with infinite relish, "I haven't half done. I was
coming to him. What does she do, I'm told,
but drag him into a quarrel with this questionable
French friend of hers."

"Good Heavens!" said Mrs. Dalrymple,
absorbed in interest, "you don't tell me so!
What things we hear every day!"

"That poor infatuated West, in his gentle
way, tried to remonstrate with her, and she
turned on him, ma'am, and got her champion
to turn on him, and only for the police, ma'am,
there'd have been a duel."

This was really dramatic news for the colony.
Not every day did they meet with a morsel so
substantial.

The Dear Girl was utterly unconscious of
the fiery cross of scandal being thus sent round.
Indeed, she never had been so happy as during
these days; for since that holiday "her Vivian's
heart," as the old story-tellers would say, had
never been so much hers.

Vivian himself seemed now not to think of
the old difficulties—perhaps shut his eyes to
them. He told her he had a presentiment that
they were to be soon happy, and that shortly,
which was accepted as an official revelation.
They were both living in a dream; and, above
all, she could meet with calm eye and cold
gaze the look of the man who had shown his
hatred and malignity to her in unmistakable
terms. But as she walked by exultant and
triumphant on her lover's arm, she could not
but notice the smiles, and looks, and whispers
which followed her.

NOTE ON "THE GREAT MAN-MILLINER"

WE have been asked to state that Mr. Worth of
Paris, whose proficiency in the millinery art was
described at page 564 of our last volume, did not begin
life as a tailor, but as an apprentice to "one of the
mast celebrated silk mercers at the West-end of
London."

             Now ready, price Fourpence,
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                BY CHARLES DICKENS
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