resorts, the morning is the time when the visiting population assembles
in force on the beach. Whiskered fathers of families made cheerful
patches of colour in the foreground. Their female friends and relatives
clustered in groups under gay parasols. Dogs roamed to and fro, and
children dug industriously with spades, ever and anon suspending their
labours in order to smite one another with these handy implements. One
of the dogs, a poodle of military aspect, wandered up to Sally: and
discovering that she was in possession of a box of sweets, decided to
remain and await developments.

Few things are so pleasant as the anticipation of them, but Sally's
vacation had proved an exception to this rule. It had been a magic month
of lazy happiness. She had drifted luxuriously from one French town to
another, till the charm of Roville, with its blue sky, its Casino, its
snow-white hotels along the Promenade, and its general glitter and
gaiety, had brought her to a halt. Here she could have stayed
indefinitely, but the voice of America was calling her back. Gerald had
written to say that "The Primrose Way" was to be produced in Detroit,
preliminary to its New York run, so soon that, if she wished to see the
opening, she must return at once. A scrappy, hurried, unsatisfactory
letter, the letter of a busy man: but one that Sally could not ignore.
She was leaving Roville to-morrow.

To-day, however, was to-day: and she sat and watched the bathers with a
familiar feeling of peace, revelling as usual in the still novel
sensation of having nothing to do but bask in the warm sunshine and
listen to the faint murmur of the little waves.

But, if there was one drawback, she had discovered, to a morning on the
Roville plage, it was that you had a tendency to fall asleep: and this