At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. Why? Because he knew that when these two young people left, the island would become intolerable. To be jeune demoiselle, it is not always convenient.
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