This happened on a Saturday morning, and on that afternoon Roger Carbury rode over to Lowestoft, to a meeting there on church matters at which his friend the bishop presided. After the meeting was over he dined at the inn with half a dozen clergymen and two or three neighbouring gentlemen, and then walked down by himself on to the long strand which has made Lowestoft what it is. It was now just the end of June, and the weather was delightful;--but people were not as yet flocking to the sea-shore. Every shopkeeper in every little town through the country now follows the fashion set by Parliament and abstains from his annual holiday till August or September. The place therefore was by no means full. Here and there a few of the townspeople, who at a bathing place are generally indifferent to the sea, were strolling about; and another few, indifferent to fashion, had come out from the lodging-houses and from the hotel, which had been described as being small and insignificant,--and making up only a hundred beds. Roger Carbury, whose house was not many miles distant from Lowestoft, was fond of the sea-shore, and always came to loiter there for a while when any cause brought him into the town. Now he was walking close down upon the marge of the tide,--so that the last little roll of the rising water should touch his feet,--with his hands joined behind his back, and his face turned down towards the shore, when he came upon a couple who were standing with their backs to the land, looking forth together upon the waves. He was close to them before he saw them, and before they had seen him. Then he perceived that the man was his friend Paul Montague. 
That afternoon Roger Carbury rode over to Lowestoft, to a meeting on church matters at which his friend the bishop presided. After the meeting he dined at the inn with half a dozen clergymen and neighbouring gentlemen, and then walked down by himself on to the long strand.
It was now just the end of June, and the weather was delightful. Here and there a few townspeople were strolling about; and another few had come out from the lodging-houses and the hotel. Roger was fond of the sea-shore, and always came to loiter there for a while when any cause brought him into the town.
He was walking close to the margin of the tide, with his hands joined behind his back, and his face turned down towards the shore, when he came upon a couple who were standing looking together upon the waves. He was close to them before they saw each other. The man was his friend Paul Montague. 