It is about nine P.M.; in the West, a faint saffron flush is lingering above the green and opal sea, while the upper part of the church tower still keeps the warm glow of sunset. The stars are beginning to appear, and a mellow half moon is rising in a deep violet sky. Lamps are twinkling above the dusky cliffs, and along the curve of the shore.
The Reader will kindly imagine himself on a seat at the end of the Pier, where the Sand is playing, and scraps of conversation from his neighbours and passing promenaders, reach his ear involuntarily.
Fair Promenader (roused to enthusiasm by the surroundings). Oh, don't it look lovely at night? (Impulsively.) I can't 'elp sayin' so.
Her Companion (whose emotions are less easily stirred). Why?
The Fair P. (apologetically). Oh, I don't know exactly—these sort o' scenes always do take my fancy.
Her Comp. (making a concession to her weakness). Well, I must say it's picturesque enough—what with the gas outside the 'All by the Sea, and the lamps on the whilk stalls.
First Girl (on seat—to Second). Here comes that young SPIFFING. I do hope he won't come bothering us! (Mr. S. gratifies her desire by promenading past in bland unconsciousness.) Well, I do call that cool! He must have seen us. Too grand to be seen talking to us here, I suppose!
Second Girl. I'm sure I wouldn't be seen talking to him, that's all! Why, he's on'y— [They pick him to pieces relentlessly.
First Girl. Take care—he's coming round again. Now we shall see. Mind you don't begin laughing, or else you'll set me off!
[As a natural consequence, Mr. S.'s approach excites them both to paroxysms of maidenly mirth.