They had their little adventures, of course, this happy pair, because Brighthelmstone is the home of so many romances. For one thing, they attracted attention when they walked abroad. Philip was sure that it was the hat from Paris; Mary was absolutely convinced that it was the coat with the astrachan collar and the spats by Grant and Cockburn. But what really impressed the floating population of Brighthelmstone was the comeliness of both; the simple pleasure they derived from the society of each other; their abounding joy in being allowed to walk about this underrated planet.
Had this natural history of nothing in particular the least pretensions to cynicism, which the world looks for in a modern romance, the happy pair would be disillusioned already. They should have been profoundly weary of one another by the fourth day in Paris, according to all the rules of the game. He should have discovered that she was shallow and half-educated, and consequently a bit of a bore when she brought the same face downstairs three mornings consecutively for café au lait. She should have discovered that he was selfish and vain, and that in his heart he didn’t think that Her belongings were equal to His, and that he saw already what a fool he had made of himself. And that being the case, she should have grown conscious of her own inferiority, and begun to hate him because she had done so, and wish herself back again on the boards.
Moreover, had the Author really known his business, they should have quarrelled bitterly on the subject of Grandmamma. Who has heard of a newly-married pair giving up the Riviera and going to Brighton to look after an old lady of eighty-four with all her faculties? He should have been obdurate, and she should have shed tears of bitterness. He should have secretly cursed his gods for the blindness that had shackled him for the rest of his days; she should have had thoughts of the Seine, and have given them expression. He should have yielded when he should have stood firm; she should have despised him for his weakness. They should have snarled at one another all the way to Brighton, and Grandmamma should have been very disagreeable when they got there, and not in the least need of their presence. But candor forces us to make full confession of our incompetence. Because none of these things came to pass.
Very much the contrary, let us assure you. Their good looks and their air of general happiness were the envy of all people of observation along the sea-front. Still they had their adventures, and some at least will have to be recorded.
One morning, as they proceeded almost arm-in-arm, but not quite, looking as though they had just bought the cosmos at five per cent. discount for cash, and were completely satisfied with the transaction, they walked right into a bath chair which was accompanied by a Sealskin Coat and a Himalayan Dust Spaniel.
Salutations necessary, being right up against each other, so to speak.
“How d’ye do, Adela,” said the Culprit, who in his happiness seemed to have nothing to conceal and nothing to defend. “You know my wife, don’t you?”
The wind was certainly blowing very chilly from the northern heights this morning. ’Tis a little way it has in March at Brighthelmstone.
Pa was not so bad as he might have been.
“Introdooce me,” said His Britannic Majesty’s former Ambassador to Persia.