‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he began, ‘but, from witnessing your feats of skill in the water, I presume you are a swimming master, and should like to know your terms for a course of lessons.’
Frederick laughed heartily at the idea, but he was not snob enough to be offended by the young man’s mistake.
‘Indeed, I wish I were anything half so useful,’ he replied; ‘but I am only an amateur like yourself. Swimming is not at all difficult; it only requires pluck and practice. Anyone could attain my proficiency if he cared to take the trouble.’
‘You’ll forgive me for mentioning it, sir?’ said the stranger, who feared he might have offended him.
‘With all my heart. There was no harm in asking,’ replied Frederick, as he heard the town clock strike three, and hastened towards the hotel. He reached it, almost running, and, going breathlessly upstairs, threw open the door of their sitting-room. But Jenny was not there. A waiter was employed putting the last touches to the luncheon-table, which was evidently only waiting their return to be spread with the noonday meal.
‘Where is Mrs Walcheren?’ inquired Frederick.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ replied the stolid waiter, as he continued putting out cruets and water bottles.
Frederick ran up to their bedroom, which was on an upper floor, and finding that also empty, put on his straw hat again and descended to the vestibule.
‘Has my wife—Mrs Walcheren, gone out?’ he asked of the porter.
‘Well, sir, I really can’t say. There’s been a gentleman asking that question here already, but I couldn’t give him no satisfaction. I suppose the lady must be out, because we can’t find her nowhere, but none of us see her pass through the hall, and I’ll take my oath she hasn’t come in, for I’ve never left my post one minute. Perhaps she went to the beach to you, sir.’