Miss Martha having arranged her sunshade to her satisfaction, opened a little volume on The Rights of the Slaves of England, while Lucy devoted herself to one of Ouida’s novels, and Amy plunged deep into Keats. In five minutes The Rights of the Slaves of England fell heavily to the sand; and in three minutes more, Miss Marrable was emitting sounds which, but that I know her to be a woman who has no weakness, I should call snores. From that moment, Lucy and Amy, as if by common consent, read no more.
‘Lucy,’ said Amy mysteriously to her cousin, ‘I have seen him.’
‘So have I,’ said Lucy.
‘What a curious coincidence!’
‘Not at all. He told me that he intended to follow us.’
‘What! Vivian told you?’
‘O no! Bother Vivian! You are always thinking of Vivian. I mean Robert.’
‘He here too!’ exclaimed Amy. ‘I meant Vivian. I saw him half an hour ago, with his father.’
‘Well, I advise you not to let Aunt Martha know too much,’ said Lucy. ‘If she suspects anything, she will take us back to London this afternoon.’
Miss Marrable murmured uneasily in her sleep. A fly had settled on her chin.