Then the sea came in sight between a dip of the sand-hills, and after a little more creaking and jolting the waggons stopped outside the long refreshment-rooms known all over the countryside as ‘Walkers’,’ and every one went down to the sands.
Andy walked in the midst of a group of choirmen and lads to the coco-nut shy, where it was agreeable to the feelings of the Gaythorpe youth that their Vicar knocked off no less than five coconuts; they would have been ashamed of him if he had missed. But after a while they dispersed in different directions, and Andy walked sedately along the shore with Mr. Kirke, discussing the news of the day.
Little groups encountered and chatted with them, and considered them important, and they considered themselves more important still, and everything was as it should be.
But it is just in those placid moments that you want to look out—for something nearly always lurks round the next corner. In this case it was Elizabeth. Not that she was lurking in any actual sense, that being a thing she would disdain to do, but she came along round a bend in the sand-hills with the free wind blowing her blue gown about her and the sunshine on her face.
“Bless me—Miss Elizabeth Atterton!” said Mr. Kirke.
“Is it?” said the Vicar. “Dear me, yes, I see it is.”
Oh, Andy—when the world went golden like the sands beneath her feet at the very sight of her!
“Mr. Deane! How very strange,” said Miss Atterton with great aplomb, but with a colour in her cheeks that had not been there when she walked the shore alone.
“Ha-ha! Yes. Just happened to be down with the School-Feast,” said Andy, laughing at nothing at all.
“Oh—the School-Feast—of course,” said Elizabeth, as if it had that moment entered her head. “And how are you getting on, Mr. Kirke? Is Miss Kirke here?”