“Nothing in particular!” 

“But when may we expect him at Heyst?” 

“Next week, he says, in time for the Bataille des Fleurs!” 

“Are you not pleased?” 

“Of course I am!” replied Elinor, but without a sparkle or blush. 

“O! if it were only my Arthur that were coming!” exclaimed Margaret, fervently, “I should go mad with joy!” 

“Then it is just as well perhaps that it is not your Arthur!” rejoined her companion, as she put the letter into her pocket. 

“Now, Bobby,” announced the strident tones of the Baroness Gobelli from the other side of the balcony, “leave off picking the shrimps! You’ve ’ad more than enough! Ain’t bread and butter good enough for you? What’ll you want next?” 

“But, Mamma,” pleaded the youth, “I’ve only had a few! I’ve been shelling Papa’s all this time!” 

“Put ’em down at once, I say!” reiterated the Baroness, “’ere William, take Bobby’s plate away! He’s ’ad plenty for this morning!” 

“But I haven’t begun yet. I’m hungry!” remonstrated Bobby. 

“Take ’is plate away!” roared the Baroness. “’Ang it all! Can’t you ’ear what I say?” 

“Mein tear! mein tear!” ejaculated the Herr Baron in a subdued voice. 

“Leave me alone, Gustave! Do you suppose I can’t manage my own son? He ain’t yours! ’E’d make ’imself ill if I didn’t look after him. Take ’is plate away, at once!” 

The man-servant William lifted the plate of peeled shrimps and bread and butter from the table, whilst Bobby with a very red face rose from his seat and rushed down the steps to the beach. 

“He! he! he!” cackled the Baroness, “that’ll teach ’im not to fiddle with ’is food another time! Bobby don’t care for an empty belly!” 

“What a shame!” murmured Margaret, who was nothing if she was 

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