‘I see the wisdom of them for you and me, my dear,’ said Lin, graciously. Under cover of a doubly-folded gauze veil, protected by rice powder, a parasol, a well-adjusted Indian shawl, Linda Thorne had at length committed herself to the cruel eye of noon. ‘My own election is to abide by Mrs. Verschoyle, whatever happens. I am afraid we shall hardly win over the young ones, Robbie, to our staid philosophy.’ ‘If Rosie and the Miss de Carterets land I shall land,’ said Mrs. Verschoyle, with dreary resignation. The poor little lady’s elder daughters were married. She had three girls in the schoolroom still. She had also boys. Chaperonage at balls and picnics, nursing of measles or scarlatina, love affairs, school bills, breakages, all came to Mrs. Verschoyle as the burthens of her widowed, many childrened lot--heavy burthens to be borne under sorrowful protest. ‘If the picnic had only been at L’Ancresse Common,’ she repeated, ‘we should have the Archdeacon and Madame Corbie with us, and need never have got wet shoes at all.’ A consultation with the skipper resulted in a general lowering of the boats. A quarter of an hour later the whole of the party, save the Doctor, were landed on the Smaller Cancale, a reef of rock separated by a mile of treacherous sands from terra firma, and upon whose limited area a crowd of Parisians of both sexes were fishing--no, were following ‘_la pêche_’ (the terms are not convertible)--after the guise and in the vestments sacred to the Parisian heart. Mrs. Verschoyle sank down on the first slippery point of rock that presented itself, vainly wishing, little though she loved the steamer, that her maternal duties had allowed her to remain there with the Doctor and the sailors. Cassandra Tighe started off, the lightest-hearted of the party, perhaps, to hunt for zoophytes and molluscs among the tide pools. The younger people, all, pronounced themselves in favour of an exploring walk inland before dinner--all except Mrs. Thorne. ‘I mean to look after your mother, Rosie,’ said Linda, removing her double folds of gauze, as she took her place at the elder lady’s side. ‘Please let me indulge my Indian laziness. Some one, positively, ought to stay with dear Mrs. Verschoyle, and I like to be that some one. It makes me remember my queer old governess days to find myself among Parisians.’ Linda was prone to these little bursts of retrospective humility. ‘And then, there is my husband! Robbie, no doubt, will eventually drift up with the tide. Quite too charming to leave all us, sober elders, together.’