H. B. Marriott Watson

“ Just beyond Halford there was a steep hill which had to be climbed, and then followed the descent into the flatter country, with the sharp left-hand turn into the Dorley road. The motor-'bus groaned up, stopped to change gear, and jerked, throwing Arscott forward. He bumped into a stout lady in front, and apologised. Her smile was vaguely amiable.
"It is this hill," she said, as if explanatorily.
Arscott's glance carried once more to the girl in the opera cloak. Suddenly he was tapped on the shoulder from behind, and, looking round, saw a tall, thin-faced man of middle age. ”

“ The 'bus was by no means full, but everyone in it seemed to have come from happy gatherings. He noted two youths of decent, middle-class origin, a rather angular spinster lady with what must be a small nephew of about thirteen, an old gentleman with a white moustache, very much de rigueur a demure shop-girl, and others. And outside was the smooth-faced man talking to the driver. Arscott's eyes reclaimed the girl with the opera cloak over her bare shoulders, who was listening with a smiling visage to the quick talk of her friend. ”

“ Arscott was privileged to help the two ladies to alight in the sand, and to answer their anxious questions. But these were answered more authoritatively, it seemed, by the outside passenger, who announced in a clear voice—
"The driver has discovered the defect, and says he will be able to put it right in an hour or two. So we must make the best of it meanwhile. We shan't do so badly. The night is warm, the moon shines on a wonderful world, and the silver sea is rolling on the sands. Ladies and gentlemen, things have a way of coming by chance. ”

“ What on earth—why, everyone was there but the outside passenger, and he must have been left behind at the bungalow.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said a well-known voice—it was the thin-faced man's—"you are incommoding those ladies."
He stood up muzzily and dropped into the seat across the way. What on earth——
Outside, the driver and conductor were busily engaged, and the crank was being turned. The ring! Then it came upon Arscott, with a strange and awful sense of panic, that he had never had a pearl ring. Where did he get it from? He gazed across in a fascinated way at the girl's fingers. Ring! ”

“ I am staying with my cousin at the farm. My name is Mrs. Medway—my cousin, Miss Seaton."
Everything seemed thus agreeably arranged. They had not been introduced, but, like the people in "Etiquette," they "both knew Robinson." ”