“My dear child,” said Mrs. Kavanagh, “you don’t know what you propose to us. To go and roll about in an open boat in these waves—we should be ill in five minutes. But I suppose you don’t know what seasickness is?”
“No,” said Sheila, “but I will hear my husband speak of it often. And it is only in crossing the Channel that people will get sick.”
“Why, this is the Channel.”
Sheila stared. Then she endeavored to recall her geography. Of course, this must be a part of the Channel, but if the people in the South became ill in this weather, they must be feeble creatures. Her speculations on this point were cut short by the entrance of her husband, who came to announce that he had not only secured a carriage for a month, but that it would be around at the hotel door in half an hour; whereupon the two American ladies said they would be ready, and left the room.
“Now go off and get dressed, Sheila,” said Lavender.
She stood for a moment irresolute.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation—“if you would allow me to go by myself—if you would go to the driving, and let me go down to the shore!”
“Oh, nonsense!” he said. “You will have people fancying you are only a school-girl. How can you go down to the beach by yourself among all those loafing vagabonds, who would pick your pockets or throw stones at you? You must behave like an ordinary Christian. Now do, like a good girl, get dressed and submit to the restraints of civilized life. It won’t hurt you much.”
So she left, to lay aside, with some regret, her rough blue dress, and he went down-stairs to see about ordering dinner.
Had she come down to the sea, then, only to live the life that had nearly broken her heart in London? It seemed so. They drove up and down the Parade for about an hour and a half, and the roar of the carriages drowned the rush of the waves. Then they dined in the quiet of this still Summer evening, and she could only see the sea as a distant and silent picture through the windows, while the talk of her companions was either about the people whom they had seen while driving, or about matters of which she knew nothing. Then the blinds were drawn and the candles lit, and still their conversation murmured around her unheeding ears. After dinner, her husband went down to the smoking-room of the hotel to have a cigar, and she was left with Mrs. Kavanagh and her daughter. She went to the window, and looked through a chink in the Venetian blinds. There was a beautiful clear twilight abroad, the darkness still of a soft gray, and up in the pale yellow-green of the sky a large planet burned and throbbed. Soon the sea and the sky would darken, the stars would come forth in thousands and tens of thousands, and the moving water would be struck with a million trembling spots of silver as the waves came onward to the beach.