nddaughter is destined to become still more detestable in the eyes
of the Julius Bradshaws before she exhausts her topic. For as the
party draws near to the scene of scientific recreation--and progress
is slow, as she is deliberate as well as detestable; and, of course,
is the pace-maker--she climbs up to a higher platform, as it were,
for the contemplation of a lower deep. She assumes, for purposes of
temporary handling of the subject, the air of one too far removed to
know more about its details than the seismograph at Greenwich knows
about the earthquake in the Andes. A dim contemplation of a thing
afar--to be forgotten on the spot, after record made.

"Luckily, it's not so bad in this case as--(Gwenny, you're tiring
Miss Nightingale. Come down!)--not so bad in this case as--(no, my
dear! you _must_ wait for dolly to be galvanised. Come down at once,
and don't make conditions.)"

"But I love having her dearly--do let me keep her!" from Sally.

And from the human creature on her shoulders, "Miss Ninedale says
'_No!_'"

"Not so bad, you were saying, as...?" Thus Rosalind, to divert the
conversation from the child.

"Oh dear! What _was_ I saying? That child! What plagues the little
things are!" The lady closes her eyes for two seconds behind a
horizontal gloved hand, a seclusion to recollect in; then continues:
"Oh yes, when it's a shopman. I dare say you've heard of that very
painful case--daughter of a well-known Greek Pr...."

But the speaker has tact enough to see her mistake from the
simultaneous loud speech it provokes. Every one seems to have
something vociferous to say, and all speak at once. Sally's
contribution is a suggestion that before dolly is put to the torture
we shall go into the downstairs place and see the gentleman who's
fishing catch a big grey mullet. It is adopted. Rosalind only remains
upstairs, and takes the opportunity to communicate the Julius Bradshaw
epic to Gwenny's mamma, who will now be more careful than ever about
the sort of people you pick up at the seaside and drop. She puts
these words by in her mind, for Gwenny's papa, later on.

The gentleman who is to be seen catching the big grey mullet hadn't
caught it, so far--not when the party arrived on the strange
middle-deck of the pier the water reaches at high tide, and persuades
occasional molluscs to grow on the floor of, with promises of a bath
next month. The green reflected light from the endless rise and fall
of the waves