"I'm afraid Arthur will have to be spanked," I said.
"There is such a thing, Mr. Maurice Lister," she declared, "as playing the watchdog just a little too zealously—especially in the springtime. See who's coming. I think I shall turn round and smile."
We both looked along the sands in the direction which she had indicated by her parasol. A tall, weedy young man, dressed with the utmost care in a grey flannel suit, brown shoes and linen spats, a Panama hat and a quaintly impossible tie, came slowly towards us, swinging a stick in his hand. As he drew near, he diffused multitudinous odours. His pimply face was suffused with a deep flow of colour. We realised at once what was going to happen. The young man whom we knew by repute only as Mr. Arthur Dompers, established at the Grange with a tutor and a small company of satellites, had evidently made up his mind to speak to us.
He came to a standstill, sidled round to the front of us, and raised his hat.
"Good morning! I say, you'll forgive my saying so—what? Awfully jolly show of yours! Ripping!"
Now I cannot say that any of us took to this young man, and, considering our Bohemian manner of life, we none of us had a fancy for chance acquaintances. The gentle rebuke which we had meditated, however, died away, first on Rose's lips and then on mine. It became apparent to us that the boy was horribly nervous.
"Glad you like it," I rejoined.
"So nice of you," Rose murmured.
"Quite a crowd from your place last night, wasn't there?" Leonard observed.