Her lodging6 was in a long, monotonous7 terrace which ran at right angles to the seashore, turning its back upon the river. Noon was at hand, and the fierce rays of the unclouded sun were untempered by any breeze. The street lay hushed, for everyone was either at church or on the sands. In response to his inquiry9, the landlady10 said that Miss Aked was out, and had left a message that if a gentleman called, he was to follow her to the jetty. Obeying the directions given to him, Richard soon found himself by the banks of the swift Arun, with the jetty some distance in front, and beyond that the sea, which shimmered11 blindly in the heat. Throngs12 of respectably dressed people wandered up and down, and a low, languid murmur13 of conversation floated out as it were from the cavities of a thousand parasols. Perspiring14 children whose hands were chafed15 by gloves full of creases16 ran to and fro among the groups, shouting noisily, and heedless of the frequent injunction to remember what day it was. Here and there nurses pushing perambulators made cool spots of whiteness in the confusion of colour. On the river boats and small yachts were continually sweeping17 towards the sea on the ebbing18 tide; now and then a crew of boys would attempt to pull a skiff against the rapid current, persevere19 for a few strokes, and then, amid scoffs20 from the bank, ignominiously21 allow themselves to be whirled past the jetty with the other craft.
Richard had never seen a southern watering-place before, and he had fondly expected something different from Llandudno, Rhyl, or Blackpool, something less stolid22 and more continental23. Littlehampton fell short of his anticipations24. It was unpicturesque as a manufacturing town, and its summer visitors were an infestive, lower-middle class folk, garishly25 clothed, and unlearned in the fine art of enjoyment26. The pure accent of London sounded on every side from the lips of clerks and shop-girls and their kin27. Richard forgot that he was himself a clerk, looking not out of place in that scene.
Presently he espied28 a woman who seemed to belong to another sphere. She was leaning over the parapet of the jetty, and though a black and white sunshade entirely29 hid her head and shoulders, the simple, perfectly30 hung black skirt, the neatly31 shod foot, the small, smoothly32 gloved hand with thin gold circlet at wrist, sufficed to convince him that here, by some strange chance, was one of those exquisite33 creatures who on Saturday afternoons drove past the end of Raphael Street on their way to Hurlingham or Barnes. He wondered what she did there, and tried to determine the subtleties34 of demeanour and costume which constituted the plain difference between herself and the other girls on the jetty. At that moment she stood erect35, and turned round. Why, she was quite young.... He approached her.... It was Adeline.
Astonishment36 was so clearly written on his face that she laughed as they exchanged greetings.
"You seem startled at the change in me," she said abruptly37. "Do you know that I positively38 adore clothes, though I've only just found it out. The first thing I did when I got here was to go over to Brighton, and spend terrific sums at a dressmaker's. You see, there wasn't time in London. You don't despise me for it, I hope? I've plenty of money—enough to last a long, long time."
She was dazzling, and she openly rejoiced in the effect her appearance had made on Richard.
"You couldn't have done better," he answered, suddenly discovering with chagrin39 that his own serge suit was worn and shabby.
"I'm relieved," she said; "I was afraid my friend might think me vain and extravagant40." Her manner of saying "my friend"—half mockery, half deference—gave Richard intense satisfaction.
They walked to the end of the jetty and sat down on a stone seat.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed enthusiastically.
"What—the town, or the people, or the sea?"
"Everything. I've scarcely been to the seaside before in all my life, and I think it's lovely."
"The sea would be splendid if one could see it, but it blinds one even to glance at it in this heat."
"You shall have half my sunshade." She put it over him with a protective gesture.
"No, no," he demurred41.
"I say yes. Why don't men carry sunshades? It's only their pride that stops them.... So you don't like the town and the people?"
"Well—"
"I love to see plenty of people about. And you would, too, if you'd been fixed42 like me. I've never seen a real crowd. There are crushes when you go into theatres, sometimes, aren't there?"
"Yes. Women faint."
"But I shouldn't. I would have given anything not long ago to be in one of those crushes. Now, of course, I can just please myself. When we are back in London, do you think I could persuade you to take me?"
"You might," he said, "if you asked nicely. But young ladies who wear clothes like yours don't usually patronise the pit, where the crushes are. Stalls or dress circle would be more in your style. I propose we take the dress circle. You wouldn't enjoy your crush going in, but at the Lyceum and some other theatres, there is quite a superior crush coming out of the stalls and dress circle."
"Yes, that is better. And I shall buy more clothes. Oh! I will be shockingly wasteful43. If poor old uncle knew how his money was to be spent—"
A little child, chased by one still less, fell down flat in front of them, and began to cry. Adeline picked it up, losing her sunshade, and kissed both children. Then she took a paper of chocolates from her pocket and gave several to each child, and they ran away without saying thank you.
"Have one?" She offered the bag to Richard. "That's another luxury I shall indulge in—chocolates. Do have just one, to keep me company," she appealed. "By the way, about dinner. I ordered dinner for both of us at my rooms, but we can improve on that. I have discovered a lovely little village a few miles away, Angmering, all old cottages and no drains. Let us drive there in a victoria, and picnic at a cottage. I know the exact place for us. There will be no people there to annoy you."
"But you like 'people,' so that won't do at all."
"I will do without 'people' for this day."
"And what shall we have for dinner?"
"Oh! Eggs and bread and butter and tea."
"Tea for dinner! Not very solid, is it?"
"Greedy! If you have such a large appetite, eat a few more chocolates; they will take it away."
She rose, pointing to a victoria in the distance.
He looked at her without getting up, and their eyes met with smiles. Then he, too, rose. He thought he had never felt so happy. An intoxicating44 vision of future felicities momentarily suggested itself, only to fade before the actuality of the present.
The victoria stopped at Adeline's rooms. She called through the open window to Lottie, who came out and received orders to dine alone, or with the landlady if she preferred.
"Lottie and Mrs. Bishop45 are great friends," Adeline said. "The silly girl would sooner stay in to help Mrs. Bishop with housework than go out on the beach with me."
"She must indeed be silly. I know which I should choose!" It seemed a remark of unutterable clumsiness—after he had said it, but Adeline's faint smile showed no dissatisfaction. He reflected that he would have been better pleased had she totally ignored it.
The carriage ran smoothly along the dusty roads, now passing under trees, and now skirting poppy-clad fields whose vivid scarlet46 almost encroached on the highway itself. Richard lay back, as he had seen men do in the Park, his shoulder lightly touching47 Adeline's. She talked incessantly48, though slowly, in that low voice of hers, and her tones mingled49 with the measured trot50 of the enfeebled horse, and lulled51 Richard to a sensuous52 quiescence53. He slightly turned his face towards hers, and with dreamy deliberateness examined her features,—the dimple in her cheek which he had never noticed before, the curves of her ear, her teeth, her smooth black hair, the play of light in her eye; then his gaze moved to her large felt hat, set bewitchingly aslant54 on the small head, and then for a space he would look at the yellowish-green back of the imperturbable55 driver, who drove on and on, little witting that enchantment56 was behind him.
They consumed the eggs and bread and butter and tea which Adeline had promised; and they filled their pockets with fruit. That was Adeline's idea. She gave herself up to enjoyment like a child. When the sun was less strenuous57 they walked about the village, sitting down frequently to admire its continual picturesqueness
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