"This summer," said Suzanne, "we must take the bull by the forelock."
"Dearest wife," I cried, "at your age you must not dream of joining in such dangerous sports. Besides I don't think the summer is quite the season for Spain."
"Who's talking about Spain? And what is this insinuation about my age? But a few short years have sped since you took me from the schoolroom——"
"Where you would mix up the proverbs in your copy-book. But let us get back to our starting-point; what exactly is it you meditate doing this summer—if any?"
"Taking the children to the seaside, of course; and, as I said, we must make our arrangements well in advance, otherwise we shall get left, as we did last year, and have to put up with lodgings in Margate."
"Have you any particular place in view?" I asked.
"No. But it must have a nice sandy beach for Barbara, and must not be too bracing for Baby, and there must be one or two caves dotted about, and a snug little harbour with a dear old fisherman who can take you sailing, and—oh, and we'll bask on the shore all day and watch the ripples dancing in the sun——"
"And hear the starfish calling to his mate," I extemporised.
"And we'll live a life of freedom in a corner by ourselves," she continued with a disconcerting change of metre into which I could not hope to follow her. But her words gave me an idea.
"I do believe," I said, "I know the exact spot you're pining for. To-morrow, something tells me, is Saturday. On Saturday I down tools at twelve. Meet me on the weighing-machine at Victoria Cross a quarter after noon and I will show you the place you seek."