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He vaguely
wondered, as he lit a cigar and strolled up and down on the shore,
meditating, with a puzzled, almost annoyed expression on his handsome
features. He was not accustomed to slights of any kind, however
trifling; his position being commanding and enviable enough to attract
flattery and friendship from most people. He was the only son of a
baronet as renowned for eccentricity as for wealth. He had been the
spoilt darling of his mother; and now, both his parents being dead, he
was alone in the world, heir to his father's revenues, and entire master
of his own actions. And as part of the penalty he had to pay for being
rich and good-looking to boot, he was so much run after by women that he
found it hard to understand the haughty indifference with which he had
just been treated by one of the most fair, if not the fairest of her
sex. He was piqued, and his _amour propre_ was wounded.
"I'm sure my question was harmless enough," he mused, half crossly, "She
might have answered it.


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