The tide has been coming in very quickly, and a bigger wave than ordinary now comes creaming up nearly to their feet. They must move at once.
"It is time to go, the breeze is growing chilly," says Mrs. Kelvin. "You must tell me more of your plans and thoughts to-morrow."
As they turn the corner of the Etablissement, they meet and pass three people--a lady and two gentlemen--who are on their way to the sands.
"What a remarkably handsome woman!" says Mrs. Kelvin to her son.
"Just my thought, mother. I wonder what country woman she is--not English, certainly."
But in saying this, Matthew Kelvin is mistaken. The lady who has attracted the admiration of himself and his mother is, in fact, none other than our old acquaintance, Miriam Byrne--now Mrs. James Baron. The gentlemen with her are her father and her husband.
Mr. Kelvin and Peter Byrne have never met, and are unaware of each other's existence. They have both been prominent actors in that strange drama which has had Eleanor Lloyd and Gerald Warburton for its central figures--a drama which must of necessity have worked itself out in an altogether different manner had neither of them, or only one of them, played a part in it. Yet, to-day, they pass each other, knowing nothing of all this, each going his own road, never to meet again. So runs the world away.
Mr. Byrne looks younger and more jaunty than ever. His new set of teeth are marvels of dentistry and gleam whitely in the sun every time he smiles--and to-day he seems to be one perpetual smile. There is a fine bright colour on his cheeks, the origin of which it might not be wise to inquire too curiously into. His blue frock-coat is tightly buttoned, so as to show off the elegance of his figure. He wears lemon-coloured gloves and carries the slimmest of umbrellas.
Nearly everyone turns to look at Miriam. Various types of French and English beauty are by no means uncommon on the sands at Boulogne, but Miriam's peculiar style of face is very rarely seen in the north of Europe, and it strikes the gay crowd with all the freshness of novelty.
Miriam is dressed in the latest fashion of seaside extravagance. She is quite conscious of the sensation which she creates as she moves slowly along, but she has been used to be stared at from the time that she can remember at all. To be admired seems to her as natural as to breathe: admiration is her birthright, and she accepts it with the serene self-unconsciousness of a queen accepting the homage of her subjects.