It was a hot evening; he came toward me with
his hat in his hand; and there was the walk I had felt so strongly
disinclined to take in perfect order again, exactly in front of the
bridge of my nose.
He was not alone, but had a young lady on his arm.
She was dressed in mourning, and I looked at her with great
interest. She had the appearance of being extremely delicate, and
her face was remarkably pale and melancholy; but she was very
pretty. He introduced her as his niece, Miss Niner.
'Are you strolling, Mr. Sampson? Is it possible you can be idle?'
It WAS possible, and I WAS strolling.
'Shall we stroll together?'
'With pleasure.'
The young lady walked between us, and we walked on the cool sea
sand, in the direction of Filey.
'There have been wheels here,' said Mr. Slinkton. 'And now I look
again, the wheels of a hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your
shadow without doubt!'
'Miss Niner's shadow?' I repeated, looking down at it on the sand.
'Not that one,' Mr. Slinkton returned, laughing. 'Margaret, my
dear, tell Mr. Sampson.'
'Indeed,' said the young lady, turning to me, 'there is nothing to
tell - except that I constantly see the same invalid old gentleman
at all times, wherever I go.
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