The seaside world was decked with light as with a garment, and the butterflies of fashion fluttered their laces and laughed at the little jokes of the wearers of Panama hats as if life could hold nothing more serious than the choice of a graceful “confection,” and the art of wearing it with good effect. At the west end of the Leas there was nothing suggestive of the seamy side of life, nothing to hint at the possibility of social earthquake. He wondered vaguely, as he walked eastward with hands clasped behind him, whether in olden time the good people who then looked out upon that sparkling sea had truly realised the danger, horror, and humiliation of the threatened invasion of a powerful enemy of England. It struck him that the British race, which has “worried through” so many awkward crises, obstinately cherished the conviction that, as a nation, it bore a charmed life; that the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune could never bring it to the proud foot of a conqueror. A dangerous faith! For here on this very coast, much less than two hundred years ago, invasion had been imminent. The French were mustered at Dunkirk, Calais, and Boulogne. The Pretender’s youngest son was with them, and there was an Irish Brigade to aid the enterprise. The English, too, had furnished a contingent of traitors to assist the enemy, for the Folkestone smugglers had sold themselves to act as pilots for the invading force. But for the vigilance of that tough old sailor, Admiral Vernon, invasion would have become an accomplished fact. By his order, the miserable fleet, placed at his disposal by a blundering government, patrolled the Channel unceasingly. Warning beacons blazed along the coast from Beachy Head to the South Foreland. There was one even on Hurricane House, as the sailors styled the parish church of Folkestone--the church which Herrick was passing at the very moment of recalling those far-off troubled times. But to-day, in the old town as in the new, people knew or cared for none of these things, nor even dreamed of the possibility of any untoward events that might make Folkestone an ineligible resort for week-end trippers. On every side ’Arry and ’Arriet rejoiced, and were glad in the glorious weather. The ’Arry collars and shoes were entirely and manifestly satisfactory to their wearers; and the blouses of ’Arriet and her sisters, cousins, and aunts, blazed violently in the dazzling sunshine. The yachting caps the maidens wore were all that unbecomingness could possibly demand, and the hats of the mothers and aunts fully exemplified that marked unsuitability for which the British female of mature years is so renowned. Herrick, as he made his way through the cheerful and perspiring throng, decided that, as an advocate, he could make out a strong case for the survival of our ancient sumptuary laws.