It was all enjoyable then, but an element of tragedy entered into it afterwards which makes me recall the place with a pang of sorrow.
I seem to hear a woman's shrieks ringing out over that blue, smiling water.
I was smoking in the bowling alley one evening, when a light coupe came dashing over the sands, and stopped at the door of the hotel.
John Saunders, my good friend and host, came out to meet a singularly handsome man, who alighted, and entered into conversation with him.
"By jingo!" exclaimed a volatile voice in my ear. "Colonel Staniels!" and my mercurial friend, Walt Summers, finished his exclamation of surprise with a prolonged whistle.
"Are you sure?" I asked, for I knew the name, though not the man then.
"Yes; know his carriage. And then no one could ever see Eben Staniels and mistake him afterwards."
I was certain of that when I saw the gentleman at supper.
He was about the medium height, with a magnificent chest, a handsome head covered with curling brown hair, and a prompt, military bearing.
His eyes were gray, bright, unflinching and very handsome.