"'Dead as the bulrushes round little Moses
On the old banks of the Nile!'"
He made his coffee last till the party got up, and then followed them to the salon. The salon did not keep them—they drifted to the hall. They disappeared. The hall was a bevy of women who had been upstairs to put on hats, and were desiring to be taken to the Kursaal. "Poppa" was in constant demand. Conrad observed that all the family men seemed inclined to loll where they were, and that all the unaccompanied men made sprightly departures. In the concert-room he found her again, but he didn't find his opportunity. To be sure, he had hardly expected one there. Still he felt rather hipped the last thing at night as he sat among a crowd, and the popping of champagne corks, in a buffet where the casks were utilised as seats, and the ladies' toilettes were as gorgeous—and as modest—as the ladies' toilettes in the hotel.
In the morning he met her coming back from the sands with an enormous sunshade, in the "early bath" costume; and he met her later wearing a picture hat in the "after bath" costume: also he saw her in the costume she put on when déjeuner was over—and still she was unapproachable. If she proved too elusive, he'd be tempted to swim after her next day and try his luck in the water. But could he be sentimental with his hair dripping? And even in Ostend it wouldn't be—Oh, in the wrong key altogether!
She was scribbling on a picture postcard at one of the little writing tables, and there was nobody else there.
"May I remind Mrs. Adaile that I have had the happiness of being presented to her?"
She turned her head, and there was approval in the lady's gaze. There was, however, not a scintilla of recognition in it.
"My name is Warrener," he said.
"Oh yes," she murmured; "I'm so short-sighted——how d'ye do?" But he saw that she was twenty years away from knowing who he was.
"This is tremendously nice of you," he exclaimed; "I was afraid you wouldn't remember me."
"How absurd!" she said perfunctorily. "Why shouldn't I? We met at——?"