"Perhaps not," assented her sister; but half an hour later she waylaid
her father to give him her commands. "Dad," she said, "if the Prince of
Markeld asks you for permission to call, you'll tell him he may. It's
just one of these odious Old World customs."
"So I judged," smiled her father. "He seems a nice fellow, and so when
he asked me ten minutes ago, I told him we'd be glad to see him."
"Did--did he mention any particular time?" faltered Sue.
"Why, yes, now I think of it, I believe he said something about this
evening."
"Oh!" gasped Susie, and then closed her lips tightly together. "Well,"
she said to herself, as she turned away, "he hasn't lost any time, to be
sure! I'm afraid he's worse than I thought!"
CHAPTER XII
Events of the Night
Life at Weet-sur-Mer, as at most other places of its class, swung in a
round prescribed by custom, as fixed and predestined as the courses of
the stars. In the late morning occurred the promenade, taken as a brisk
constitutional by a few, but by the great majority as a languid stroll
designed to create an appetite for luncheon. That meal was followed by a
period of torpor, then every one sought the beach--the high, the low;
the rich, the poor; the dowdy and the well-dressed; the virgin in white
and the cocotte in scarlet; the thin and the obese; the French, the
Dutch, the Italian--yea, and the angular English, for Weet-sur-Mer
attracted a crowd as hybrid as its name! There they amused themselves
each after his own fashion, with dignity or abandon, as the case might
be.
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