Take ’is
plate away, at once!”

The man-servant William lifted the plate of peeled shrimps and bread
and butter from the table, whilst Bobby with a very red face rose from
his seat and rushed down the steps to the beach. “He! he! he!” cackled the Baroness, “that’ll teach ’im not to fiddle
with ’is food another time! Bobby don’t care for an empty belly!”

“What a shame!” murmured Margaret, who was nothing if she was not a
mother, “now the poor boy will go without his breakfast.”

Presently, William was to be seen sneaking past the Hotel with a parcel
in his hands. The Baroness pounced upon him like a cat upon a mouse. “William!” she cried from the balcony, “what ’ave you got in your
’and?”

“Summat of my own, my lady!”

“Bring it ’ere!”

The man mounted the steps and stood before his mistress. He held a
parcel in his hands, wrapped up in a table napkin. “Open that parcel!” said the Baroness. “Indeed, my lady, it’s only the shrimps as Master Robert left behind
him and I thought they would make me a little relish on the sands, my
lady!”

“Open that parcel!”

William obeyed, and disclosed the rolls and butter and peeled shrimps
just as Bobby had left them. “You were going to take ’em down to Bobby on the beach!”

“No, indeed, my lady!”

“Confound you, Sir, don’t you lie to me!” exclaimed the Baroness,
shaking her stick in his face, “I’ve ways and means of finding out
things that you know nothing of! Throw that stuff into the road!”

“But, my lady----”

“Throw it into the road at once, or you may take your month’s warning! ’Ang it all! are you the mistress, or am I?”

The servant threw a glance of enquiry in the direction of the Herr
Baron but the Herr Baron kept his face well down in his plate, so after
a pause, he walked to the side, and shook the contents of the napkin
upon the Digue. “And now don’t you try any more of your tricks upon me or I’ll thrash
you till your own mother won’t know you! You leave Bobby alone for the
future, or it’ll be the worst day’s work you ever did! Remember that!”

“Very good, my lady!” replied William, but as he left the balcony he
gave a look at the other occupants, which well conveyed his feelings on
the subject. “I should not be surprised to hear that that woman had been murdered by
her servants some day!” said Margaret to Elinor Leyton. “No! and I should not be sorry! I feel rather like murdering her
myself. But let us go down to the sands, Margaret, and try to find the
disconsolate Bobby! I’m not afraid of his mother if William is, and if
he wants something to eat, I shall give it him!”

They fetched their hats and parasols, and having left the Hotel by a
side entrance, found their way down to the sands. It was a pretty sight
there, and in some cases, a comical one. The bathing-machines were
placed some sixty or more feet from the water, according to the tide,
and their occupants, clad in bathing-costumes, had to run the gauntlet
of all the eyes upon the beach, as they traversed that distance in
order to reach the sea. To some visitors, especially the English ones,
this ordeal was rather trying. To watch them open a crevice of the
machine door, and regard the expectant crowd with horror;--then after
some hesitation, goaded on by the cries of the bathing women that
the time was passing, to see them emerge with reluctant feet, sadly
conscious of their unclothed condition, and of the unsightly corns and
bunions which disfigured their feet--to say nothing of the red and
blue tint which their skin had suddenly assumed--was to find it almost
impossible to refrain from laughter. The very skinny and knuckle-kneed
ones; the very fat and bulging ones; the little fair men who looked
like Bobby’s peeled shrimps, and the muscular black and hairy ones
who looked like bears escaped from a menagerie,--these types and many
others, our ladies could not help being amused at, though they told
each other it was very improper all the time. But everybody had to
pass through the same ordeal and everybody submitted to it, and tried
to laugh off their own humiliation by ridiculing the appearance of
their neighbours. Margaret and Elinor were never tired of watching the
antics of the Belgians and Germans whilst they were (what they called)
bathing. The fuss they made over entering two feet of water--the way
in which they gasped and puffed as they caught it up in their hands
and rubbed their backs and chests with it--the reluctance with which
the ladies were dragged by their masculine partners into the briny,
as if they expected to be overwhelmed and drowned by the tiny waves
which rippled over their toes, and made them catch their breath. And
lastly, when they were convinced there was no danger, to see them, men
and women, fat and thin, take hands and dance round in a ring as if
they were playing at “Mulberry Bush” was too delightful. But if one
bather, generally an Englishman, more daring than his fellows, went in
for a good swim, the coast-guardsmen ran along the breakwater, shouting
“Gare, gare!” until he came out again. “They are funnier than ever to-day,” remarked Margaret, after a while,
“I wonder what they will say when they see Ralph swimming out next
week. They will be frightened to death. All the Pullens are wonderful
swimmers. I have seen Anthony Pennell perform feats in the water that
made my blood run cold! And Ralph is famous for his diving!”

The topic did not appear to interest Elinor. She reverted to the
subject of Anthony. “Is that the literary man--the cousin?”

“Yes! Have you not met him?”

“Never!”

“I am sure you would like him! He is such a fine fellow! Not such a
‘beauty man’ as Ralph, perhaps, but quite as tall and stalwart! His
last book was a tremendous success!”

“Ralph has never mentioned him to me, though I knew he had a cousin of
that name!”

“Well!--if you won’t be offended at my saying so--Ralph has always been
a little jealous of Anthony, at least so Arthur says. He outstripped
him at school and college, and the feeling had its foundation there. And anyone might be jealous of him now! He has shewn himself to be a
genius!”

“I don’t like geniuses as a rule,” replied Elinor, “they are so
conceited. I believe that is Bobby Bates sitting out there on the
breakwater! I will go and see if he is still hungry!”

“Give the poor boy a couple of francs to get himself a breakfast in
one of the restaurants,” said Margaret, “he will enjoy having a little
secret from his terrible Mamma!”

She had not been alone long before the nurse came up to her, with the
perambulator, piled up with toys, but no baby. Margaret’s fears were
excited at once. “Nurse! nurse, what is the matter? Where is the baby?” she exclaimed in
tones of alarm. “Nothing’s the matter, Ma’am!