"That is rather a curious thing," said my wife, when I detailed the experiences of the morning to her on her return from her shopping. "I hope—"
"Oh, we're all right," I said, lightly. "They can't put us out. Possession, you know—"
"Yes, I know. I wasn't thinking of that," she said, with a far-away look in her eyes.
By evening the raw edge of the annoyance of the morning had worn off. We sat in the porch enjoying the evening breeze, and counted ourselves for the time being among the fortunate ones of the earth. Our charity even extended at odd moments to the disappointed would-be occupants of our shoes—and bedrooms, and we devoutly hoped they had found rooms somewhere, and were not occupying airy apartments in bathing machines.
"It was a stupid mistake of Mr. Joseph Scorer's," we said, "and he ought to be more careful."
"I shall write when I have time," I said, "and tell him so."
But I never had time. I was much too fully occupied with other things.
Next day, after a morning bathe and paddle on the sands and early dinner, we started for a long afternoon's ramble round Eastnor, to get some idea of the place, leaving the two youngest children with the servant, with strict injunctions not to get drowned, and to get their tea whenever they felt like it.
We did Eastnor thoroughly, and then, noticing that there was a concert on the pier that night, my wife suggested tea at a confectioner's, and an adjournment to the pier afterwards for the concert. This was carried with acclaim. We enjoyed the tea, the concert, and the stroll home, and arrived at Sandybank Cottage about ten o'clock, fully satisfied with our day's outing.
Amelia met us at the door. She was in a state of extreme nervous excitement.