“I’ve been only twice. We’ll see all the foreigners, and sit in cafés, and go to theaters and see if we can understand them.”
But Roland was not very anxious to go abroad. He went there too often in the way of business. He might meet people who at other times were charming, but were not on a honeymoon the most comfortable company. There would be the fatigue of long journeys, and besides, he wanted Muriel to himself.
“I don’t want to go and see foreigners, I want to see you.”
“Well, you’ll have seen a good deal of me before you’ve finished.”
“But, Muriel,” and the firm note in his voice forced her to capitulate.
“All right, all right, have it as you like.”
And so, after much discussion, it was decided that they should get a cyclist map of England, find a Sussex village that was at least three miles from any railway station, and then write to the postmaster and ask whether anyone there would be ready to let them rooms for a month.
“Three miles from anywhere! Heavens! but I shall be bored; still it’s as you wish. Go and get your map, Gerald.”
And with the map spread on the table they selected, after an hour’s argument, to see if anything was doing at Bamfield.
“It should be a good place,” said Roland. “It’s just under the Downs.”