Really, it seems to him there must be some mistake. Reine, his unloved wife, here on Albion's wave-washed shore—impossible.
But the lad replies, distinctly:
"A young lady at the Sea View Hotel, a very pretty lady, with big black eyes."
This description is too suggestive of Reine to admit of further doubt.
With a suppressed groan, Vane tears a leaf from his memorandum book, and scribbles, hastily:
"Reine:—I will be with you in fifteen minutes.
"Vane."
Totally forgetting, in his flurry, to put her name upon it, he doubles the sheet and puts it into the lad's hand with a generous silver piece.
"Now, fly back to the lady, you young scamp," he apostrophizes.
As if the reward had lent wings to his feet, the urchin runs lightly along the sandy shore, and disappears in the distance.