James heard their footsteps retreating. He drew a long, deep breath. In desperate haste he huddled on the rest of his garments. Two minutes later saw him strolling negligently down the beach with an almost aggressive air of innocence. Grace and the Sopworth girls joined him on the beach a quarter of an hour later. The rest of the morning passed agreeably in stone throwing, writing in the sand and light badinage. Then Claud glanced at his watch.

‘Lunch-time,’ he observed. ‘We’d better be strolling back.’

‘I’m terribly hungry,’ said Alice Sopworth.

All the other girls said that they were terribly hungry too.

‘Are you coming, James?’ asked Grace.

Doubtless James was unduly touchy. He chose to take offence at her tone.

‘Not if my clothes are not good enough for you,’ he said bitterly. ‘Perhaps, as you are so particular, I’d better not come.’

That was Grace’s cue for murmured protestations, but the seaside air had affected Grace unfavourably. She merely replied:

‘Very well. Just as you like, see you this afternoon then.’

James was left dumbfounded.

‘Well!’ he said, staring after the retreating group. ‘Well, of all the—’

He strolled moodily into the town. There were two cafés in Kimpton-on-Sea, they are both hot, noisy and overcrowded. It was the affair of the bathing-huts once more, James had to wait his turn. He had to wait longer than his turn, an unscrupulous matron who had just arrived forestalling him when a vacant seat did present itself. At last he was seated at a small table. Close to his left ear three raggedly bobbed maidens were making a determined hash of Italian opera. Fortunately James was not musical. He studied the bill of fare dispassionately, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He thought to himself:

‘Whatever I ask for it’s sure to be “off”. That’s the kind of fellow I am.’

His right hand, groping in the recesses of his pocket, touched an unfamiliar object. It felt like a pebble, a large round pebble.

‘What on earth did I want to put a stone in my pocket for?’ thought James.

His fingers closed round it. A waitress drifted up to him.

‘Fried plaice and chipped potatoes, please,’ said James.

‘Fried plaice is “off”,’ murmured the waitress, her eyes fixed dreamily on the ceiling.

‘Then I’ll have curried beef,’ said James.

‘Curried beef is “off”.’

‘Is there anything on this beastly menu that isn’t “off”?’ demanded James.