But Beryl was shy. She never undressed in front of anybody. Was that
silly? Mrs. Harry Kember made her feel it was silly, even something to be
ashamed of. Why be shy indeed! She glanced quickly at her friend standing
so boldly in her torn chemise and lighting a fresh cigarette; and a quick,
bold, evil feeling started up in her breast. Laughing recklessly, she drew
on the limp, sandy-feeling bathing-dress that was not quite dry and
fastened the twisted buttons.

"That's better," said Mrs. Harry Kember. They began to go down the beach
together. "Really, it's a sin for you to wear clothes, my dear.
Somebody's got to tell you some day."

The water was quite warm. It was that marvellous transparent blue, flecked
with silver, but the sand at the bottom looked gold; when you kicked with
your toes there rose a little puff of gold-dust. Now the waves just
reached her breast. Beryl stood, her arms outstretched, gazing out, and as
each wave came she gave the slightest little jump, so that it seemed it was
the wave which lifted her so gently.

"I believe in pretty girls having a good time," said Mrs. Harry Kember.
"Why not? Don't you make a mistake, my dear. Enjoy yourself." And
suddenly she turned turtle, disappeared, and swam away quickly, quickly,
like a rat. Then she flicked round and began swimming back. She was going
to say something else. Beryl felt that she was being poisoned by this cold
woman, but she longed to hear. But oh, how strange, how horrible! As Mrs.
Harry Kember came up close she looked, in her black waterproof bathing-cap,
with her sleepy face lifted above the water, just her chin touching, like a
horrible caricature of her husband.