For a time they were silent, until, indeed, the boat with the patched sail had taken the ground gently, a few yards from the shore. A number of men landed from her, some of them carrying baskets of fish. One, walking apart, made for the dunes, in the direction of the New Scheveningen Road.
“And that is Tony,” said Marguerite. “I should know his walk—if I saw him coming out of the Ark, which, by the way, must have been rather like the Three Brothers to look at. He has taken your brother safely away, and now he is coming—to take you.”
“He may remember that I am Percy's sister,” suggested Dorothy.
“It doesn't matter whose sister you are,” was the decisive reply. “Nothing matters”—Marguerite rose slowly, and shook the sand from her dress—“nothing matters, except one thing, and that appears to be a matter of absolute chance.”
She climbed slowly to the summit of the dune under which they had been sitting, and there, pausing, she looked back. She nodded gaily down at Dorothy. Then suddenly, she held out her hands before her, and Cornish, looking up, saw her slim young form poised against the sky in a mock attitude of benediction.
“Bless you, my dears,” she cried, and with a short laugh turned and walked towards the Villa des Dunes.