"'The police,' said I, 'were too officious.'
"'So Jack says,' replied Miss Holroyd, demurely.
"We had unconsciously moved on along the sand-hills, side by side, as we spoke.
"'To think,' I repeated, 'that I should meet Jack's little—'
"'Please,' she said, 'you are only three years my senior.'
"She opened the sunshade and tipped it over one shoulder. It was white, and had spots and posies on it.
"'Jack sends us every new book you write,' she observed. 'I do not approve of some things you write.'
"'Modern school,' I mumbled.
"'That is no excuse,' she said, severely; 'Anthony Trollope didn't do it.'
"The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, and the little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled and spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across the shingle, only to tip and run and sail on again. The salt sea-wind whistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumed puffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through the crackling juicy-stemmed marsh-weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the reeds, aggressive, protesting.