The cottage where he lived was almost on the beach. Above it the town rose, a pile of red roofs and smoking chimneys, a misty cloud of pale blue smoke twisted and turned in the air. The world was full of delicious scents that the later day destroyed, and everything behaved as though it were seeing life for the first time; the blue smoke had never discovered the sky before, the waves had never discovered the sand before, the breeze had never discovered the trees before. Very soon they would lose that surprise and would find that they had done it all only yesterday, but, at first, it was all quite new. Punch and Toby bathed; as they came out of the water they saw Morelli sitting on a rock. Punch sat down on the sand quite unconcernedly and watched the sea. He hadn’t a towel, and so the sun must do instead. Toby, having barked once, sat down too. “Good morning, Mr. Garrick,” said Morelli. Punch looked up for a moment. “A fine day,” he said. Morelli came over to him. He was dressed in a suit of some green stuff, so that against the background of green boughs that fringed the farther side of the little cove he seemed to disappear altogether. “Good morning, Mr. Garrick,” he said again. “A splendid day for a bathe. I’d have gone in myself only I know I should have repented it afterwards.” “Yes, sir,” said Punch. “You can bathe ’ere all the year round. In point of fact, it’s ’otter at Christmas than it is now. The sea takes a while to get warm.” “This fine weather,” said Morelli, looking at the sea, “brings a lot of people to the place.” “Yes,” said Punch, “the ‘Man at Arms’ is full and all the lodgings. It’s a good season.” “I suppose it makes some difference to you, Mr. Garrick, whether there are people or no?” “Oh yes,” said Punch, “if there’s no one ’ere I move. I’m staying this time.” “Do you find that the place changes?” said Morelli. “No,” said Punch, “it don’t alter at all. Now there are places, Pendragon for one, that you wouldn’t know for the difference. They’ve pulled down the Cove and built flats, and there are niggers and what not. It’s better for the trade, of course, but I don’t like the place.” “Oh yes, I remember Pendragon,” said Morelli. “There was a house there, the Flutes—Trojan was the name of the people—a fine place.” “And ’e’s a nice man that’s there now,” said Punch, “Sir ’Enry; what I call a man, but the place is rotten.” Toby looked in his master’s face and knew that he was ill at ease. He knew his master so well that he recognised his sentiments about people without looking at him twice. His own feelings about other dogs were equally well defined; if he was suspicious of a dog he was on his guard, very polite of course, but sniffing inwardly; his master did the same.