"Here we are," Pelham's joyful tones fathered the last of the luggage,
laboriously lowered by the stout porter.
The husband beckoned the nearest hackman, a darky patriarch venerable as
his grizzle-flanked steed. "The Ocean House, please."
Jane settled into Pelham's crescenting arm.
"We're here," he added fatuously. "Isn't it----"
"Glorious!"
They stared ahead together, to the sandy beach and the sun-glitter of
the water.