"We could give those kids a lift," said Mrs. Romayne. "They've no car."
She turned and shouted to the Morgan children.
"D'you want to go to the rocks? We're going, and you can come along with us. Plenty of room."
The mother of the children was with them. She came up.
"Thank you so much. It's very kind of you."
How strange, thought Mr. Bolham, to hear the accents of a well-bred English woman on the Côte d'Azur—or, for that matter, anywhere at all, in these days.
He looked at Mrs. Morgan. She was tall and slight, with a delicate, intelligent, colourless face, very beautiful deep blue eyes, and fair hair, coiled over her ears in shells. It was now of a neutral tint, but he felt sure that it had once been as golden as that of her children. Although she looked tired, she was not devitalised. Her eyes and mouth were expressive and mobile, and she carried herself well.
When her eyes met those of Mr. Bolham, she smiled frankly. They had already exchanged a good deal of conversation, and Mr. Bolham knew that his more malicious sallies at the expense of their fellow-guests were not unappreciated by Mrs. Morgan.
Mrs. Romayne, in her pale pink pyjamas, and still holding hands with her son's tutor, looked through, rather than at, the other woman, although with complete amiability, and repeated her offer of driving them all up to the rocks, where there was better bathing to be had than from the plage. David and Gwennie, the two younger children, were already hopping about eagerly.
"Please, mummie, may we?"
"Certainly."
Olwen, the eldest, said: "We said Dulcie might come and bathe with us this evening."
"My God," said Mrs. Romayne. "Well, I suppose one more doesn't make any difference. Only hurry up, if you want to go and fetch her. Here's the car."
The car, an enormous Buick, was coming round the corner from the Hotel garage.
Waller returned with Mrs. Romayne's shoes. When she thanked him, he replied: "Don't mention it, please."
The children climbed into the car, Dulcie effusively and tiresomely grateful, and Buckland said to Patrick Romayne:
"Out you get, my lad, I'm driving."
"Why can't I?"
"Because we value our lives, even if you don't," retorted the tutor smartly, and looked round for approval. Waller, Mrs. Romayne, and Dulcie Courteney all laughed, and the boy at the wheel turned rather white.
"Climb out, Pat," directed his mother. "Get in at the back. Buck, I'm coming next you."
She took her place next to the driver.
"Here—you—" her look indicated Denis Waller. "Why don't you come along too? Heaps of room."
Waller, looking at Mr. Bolham, protested insincerely.
"If I'm not wanted elsewhere——"
"Go, by all means," said Mr. Bolham sourly.
"If you're sure—but really—If I'm not trespassing on Mrs. Romayne's kindness ... I could quite well walk——"
"Get in!" shouted the hearty tutor, Buckland.
At last they were off.
Mary Morgan and Mr. Bolham remained together on the terrace, watching the car, diminishing swiftly, rush down the S-like curves of the long drive.
"Why do you allow your charming children to go anywhere with that vulgar woman and her appendages?" enquired Mr. Bolham, although aware that the question was quite unjustifiable, if judged by the extent of his acquaintance with Mrs. Morgan.
She replied to it, however, readily and without any trace of resentment.
"Partly because I'm sorry for the boy, Patrick. The children say he's nice. And partly on principle."
"What principle?"
Mrs. Morgan's blue eyes rested on him thoughtfully, as though wondering if he were really interested. Mr. Bolham, who was, endeavoured to look as intelligent as he felt.
"If we're going to discuss principles," said Mary Morgan at last, "don't you think we might sit down?"
Mr. Bolham, desiring nothing better than a conversation with her, brought forward two deck-chairs, and they sat down, by mutual consent finding a place in the now diminishing heat of the sun.
"Well—what principle impels you to expose your children to the contamination of a third-rate adventuress?" said Mr. Bolham pleasantly.
"I don't believe in tying children to their mother's apron-strings. They'll have to meet all kinds of people in the end. They can only learn to discriminate by experience."
"They're too young."
"No," said Mary kindly, but with decision. "I assure you they're not. I think so many mothers make that mistake. Of course, really, they want to go on believing that the children are babies—not individuals—because they're afraid of losing them."
"And how do you get over that—the fear of losing them, I mean?"
"I suppose by facing it. By letting them" —she smiled at him—"associate with third-rate adventuresses. Though really, you know, I do think you're rather hard on Mrs. Romayne. She's very good-natured."
"I wonder if Waller intends to enter into competition with that outrageous tutor?"
"I shouldn't think so. Yes—that is bad. I'm so sorry for the poor boy, Patrick. I suppose she thinks that he doesn't notice."
"Far more likely she never thinks about him at all."
"He's a nice boy—terribly pathetic. Olwen has made friends with him, I think."
"I wonder you let them— However, I've said that before."
"Well," said Mary Morgan, "I will admit that I mightn't have sent them all off just now, if I hadn't known that my husband was already at the rocks. They'll join up with him."
"He's a fine swimmer. Does he like this place? Do you?"
Mrs. Morgan appeared to consider. One of the things he liked about her was that she never seemed to be surprised by anything he asked, and she always gave consideration to her reply.
"Pretty well," she said at last. "I like the sun, of course, and the swimming, and seeing the children turn brown. I don't like the Hotel, much, or many of the people in it."
Her eyes, perhaps unconsciously, wandered to where the new couple, the young Moons, were rising from their table and preparing to go indoors.
"That girl is lovely," she added irrelevantly.
"No," said Mr. Bolham. "Prettyish, if you like,
