It must be lovely to be going on a holiday like that, thought Mary, with such excitement and good humour, to be engrossed all day by the joys of swing boats and pierrots, to bounce wildly on donkeys up and down the sands. It must be lovely to sit hand in hand with one's sweetheart, sucking Hardrascliffe rock, and listening to the distant music from the band on the esplanade. To feel so young and care free, so much welcomed and beloved, to enjoy warm human kisses and pleasant nonsense—not to walk alone through a village grown strangely unfamiliar, while all the time one thought hurt and hurt and hurt....
"Mrs. Robson! Mrs. Robson!"
Miss Taylor came panting down the hill.
"Aren't you coming to see the waggons? It's nearly time to start. And you'll never guess! Your Fred's got first prize for the greys. They are lovely!"
There was no peace then.
Mary retraced her steps and did her duty. She always did when it came to the point. There were so many people to be noticed, so many questions to be answered. Was she going in to see the tea? Wouldn't she drive down later in the day and look at them all on the sands? Would she come now at this very moment to inspect Eva Greenwood's new doll which was also going to the seaside?
But at last it was over and Mr. Slater, standing by the head of the procession, raised his hand for the signal of departure.
The final ceremony followed.
Mary held her breath. This was her moment, when balm might be poured on her troubled spirit. Here in the public recognition of her suzerainty she found all the reward she asked from life.
"Three cheers for Sir Charles Seton!" called Coast from the leading waggon.