throw her
protection over him. It would be like tempting Providence to polish off
dust or mud, in such circumstances, wouldn't it?

My face was a different matter, though, and I longed to polish it.
Before we got to Swanage, it felt--even under chiffon--just as an iced
cake must feel. Only the cake, fortunately for its contour, never needs
to smile.

We were going to Swanage because of the caves--Tilly Whim Caves. Did you
ever hear of them, Parisienne mamma? Small blame to you, if not, because
one can't know everything; but they are worth seeing; and the Swanage
harbour is a little dream. The town is good, too. Old-world, and very,
very respectable-looking, as if it were full of long-established lawyers
and clergymen, yet not dull, like Wareham, which was important in Saxon
days, long before Swanage was born or thought of. It's "Knollsea" in the
"Hand of Ethelberta." Do you remember? And Alfred the Great had a
victory close by--so close, that in a storm the Danish ships blew into
what is the town now, as if they had been butterflies with their wings
wet.

We climbed up, up above the village, in the motor-car, on the steepest,
twistingest road I've seen yet in England, though Sir Lionel says I'll
think nothing of it when we get into Devonshire; up, up to a high place
where they've built a restaurant. Near by we left the motor (and Emily,
who never walks for pleasure), and ho, for the caves! It was a scramble
among dark cliffs of Purbeck limestone. The caves are delightfully
weird, and of course there are smuggling stories about them. A strange
wind blew through their labyrinths, ceaselessly, like the breathings of
a hidden giant, betrayed by sleep. It was heavenly cool in that dim
twilight that never knew sun, but oh, it was hot coming out into the
afternoon glare, and climbing the steep path to where the motor waited!
I think Mrs. Senter was sorry she hadn't stopped with Emily. She got a
horrid headache, and felt so ill that Sir Lionel asked if she would care
to stop all night at Swanage, and she said she would.

Fortunately, it turned out that there were good hotels, and Sir Lionel
took rooms at the one we liked the best--old-fashioned in an agreeable
way. Mrs. Senter went to bed, but the rest of us strolled out after
dinner; and Mrs. Norton began talking to Dick about his mother, which
threw Sir Lionel and me together.

We sat on the pier, where the moon turned bright pink as she dipped down
into a bank of clou