"I'm glad we've got it all to ourselves," said Amethyst, with a deep sigh of enjoyment, as she passed a plate containing half a pork-pie to Marcus; between whom and herself a truce had been declared.
"I can't understand it," added the vicar. "I should have thought half Sandyshore would come to such a charming spot." And he leaned over and looked down at the dark blue sea, dashing up against the base of the rocks, some sixty or seventy feet below.
"It is rather an expensive drive, for one thing," said his wife, who was engaged in pouring lemonade syrup into glasses, to which Elsa added water.
"By the way, where is our coachee?" enquired Marcus. "Isn't he to have something to eat?"
"He has driven on to the Coastguard station, to put up his horse," replied his father. "Some relations of his live there, he says. He will turn up again at four."
"Are you enjoying your holiday, Miss Beauchamp?"
Monica started at the sound of a voice near her elbow, and looked up to see that the young clergyman, of whom she was frightfully shy, and whom she had done her utmost to avoid so far, had found a seat near her own, which was rather a high lump of rock where she had perched herself in order to get a good view of the undercliff.
"Yes, thank you, very much," she faltered; and then she pulled herself together, for it was an unusual thing for Monica Beauchamp to be at a loss for words.
"Sandyshore, and indeed all the coast in this neighbourhood, is very lovely," said Leslie Herschel, his eyes sweeping the panorama that stretched out before them.
"I couldn't bear staying here last year," admitted Monica, "and when I knew my grandmother was coming again, I was vexed at first; but I should have been very sorry not to have come, now."