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The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. Deep silences came between them. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:—the cry of the populace almost universally being, "No King George, but a Stuart!" The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes. ’ ‘Oh, that tragic pair,’ uttered her ladyship in saddened tones. ’ Gerald turned and came back to her. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. “I don’t think she will,” she said.
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