Paul Montague had been a fool to suggest Lowestoft, but his folly had been natural. It was not the first place he had named; but when fault had been found with others, he had fallen back upon the sea sands which were best known to himself. Lowestoft was just the spot which Mrs. Hurtle required. When she had been shown her room, and taken down out of the hotel on to the strand, she had declared herself to be charmed. She acknowledged with many smiles that of course she had had no right to expect that Mrs. Pipkin should understand what sort of place she needed. But Paul would understand,--and had understood. "I think the hotel charming," she said. "I don't know what you mean by your fun about the American hotels, but I think this quite gorgeous, and the people so civil!" Hotel people always are civil before the crowds come. Of course it was impossible that Paul should return to London by the mail train which started about an hour after his arrival. He would have reached London at four or five in the morning, and have been very uncomfortable. The following day was Sunday, and of course he promised to stay till Monday. Of course he had said nothing in the train of those stern things which he had resolved to say. Of course he was not saying them when Roger Carbury came upon him; but was indulging in some poetical nonsense, some probably very trite raptures as to the expanse of the ocean, and the endless ripples which connected shore with shore. Mrs. Hurtle, too, as she leaned with friendly weight upon his arm, indulged also in moonshine and romance. Though at the back of the heart of each of them there was a devouring care, still they enjoyed the hour. We know that the man who is to be hung likes to have his breakfast well cooked. And so did Paul like the companionship of Mrs. Hurtle because her attire, though simple, was becoming; because the colour glowed in her dark face; because of the brightness of her eyes, and the happy sharpness of her words, and the dangerous smile which played upon her lips. He liked the warmth of her close vicinity, and the softness of her arm, and the perfume from her hair,--though he would have given all that he possessed that she had been removed from him by some impassable gulf. As he had to be hanged,--and this woman's continued presence would be as bad as death to him,--he liked to have his meal well dressed.

Paul Montague had been a fool to suggest Lowestoft, but his folly had been natural. Here were the sea sands which he knew best. When Mrs. Hurtle had been taken from the hotel on to the beach, she had declared herself to be charmed; Paul had understood what sort of place she needed.
"I think the hotel is quite gorgeous," she said, "and the people so civil!" Hotel people always are civil before the crowds come.
Of course it was impossible that Paul should return to London by the mail train an hour after his arrival. He would have reached London at four or five in the morning. The following day was Sunday, so of course he promised to stay till Monday. He had said nothing in the train of those stern things which he had resolved to say. He was not saying them when Roger Carbury came upon him; but was indulging in some poetical nonsense about the expanse of the ocean, and the endless ripples which connected shore with shore. Mrs. Hurtle, too, as she leaned with friendly weight upon his arm, indulged also in moonshine and romance. Though in the heart of each there was a devouring care, still they enjoyed the hour.
And Paul liked the companionship of Mrs. Hurtle, because her attire was becoming and her eyes were bright. He liked the warmth of her closeness, and the softness of her arm, and the perfume from her hair - though he would have given all that he possessed to have her removed from him by some impassable gulf.
