“If I were Lady Joanna Farringmore, I suppose I should say something rather naughty in French, Columbus, to relieve my feelings.  But you and I don’t talk French, do we?  And we have struck the worthy Lady Jo and all her crowd off our visiting-list for some time to come.  I don’t suppose any of them will miss us much, do you, old chap?  They’ll just go on round and round in the old eternal waltz and never realize that it leads to nowhere.”  She stretched out her arms suddenly towards the horizon; then turned and lay down by Columbus on the shingle.  “Oh, I’m glad we’ve cut adrift, aren’t you?  Even without cigarettes, it’s better than London.”

Again Columbus signified his agreement by kissing her hair, in a rather gingerly fashion on account of the smoke; after which, as she seemed to have nothing further to say, he got up, shook himself, and trotted off to explore the crannies in the cliffs.

His mistress pillowed her dark head on her arm, and lay still, with the sea singing along the ridge of shingle below her.  She finished her cigarette and seemed to doze.  A brisk wind was blowing from the shore, but the beach itself was sheltered.  The sunlight poured over her in a warm flood.  It was a perfect day in May.

Suddenly a curious thing happened.  A small stone from nowhere fell with a smart tap upon her uncovered head!  She started, surprised into full consciousness, and looked around.  The shore stretched empty behind her.  There was no sign of life among the grass-grown cliffs, save where Columbus some little distance away was digging industriously at the root of a small bush.  She searched the fringe of flaming gorse that overhung the top of the cliff immediately behind her, but quite in vain.  Some sea gulls soared wailing overhead, but no other intruder appeared to disturb the solitude.  She gave up the search and lay down again.  Perhaps the wind had done it, though it did not seem very likely.

The tide was rising, and she would have to move soon in any case.  She would enjoy another ten minutes of her delicious sun-bath ere she returned for the midday meal that Mrs. Rickett was preparing in the little thatched cottage next to the forge.

Again she stretched herself luxuriously.  Yes, it was better than London; the soft splashing of waves was better than the laughter of a hundred voices, better than the roar of a thousand wheels, better than the voice of a million concerts ...  Again reverie merged into drowsy absence of thought.  How exquisite the sunshine was!...

It fell upon her dark cheek this time with a sharp sting and bounced off on to her hand—­a round black stone dropped from nowhere but with strangely accurate aim.  She sprang up abruptly.  This was getting beyond a joke.

Columbus was still rooting beneath the distant bush.  Most certainly he was not the offender.  Some boy was hiding somewhere among the humps and clefts that constituted the rough surface of the cliff.  She picked up her walking-stick with a certain tightening of the lips.  She would teach that boy a lesson if she caught him unawares.