The little ones, charming and tractable earlier in the day, were fretful; parents were glad to collect picnic baskets, bathing dresses, towels, buckets, spades and passionately collected seaweed and shells, and head for the charabanc. They looked forward to the relief of their children in bed, a long drink before dinner, and quiet packing before tomorrow’s journey. “Come with us,” said Cosmo to Flora. “Help us fetch our surprise from the bus. You are not going back, are you?” “Of course she isn’t,” said Blanco. “I need her for my message in Russian to Cousin Thing. She can dictate it phonetically, can’t you, Flora?” “I don’t think it’s a very kind idea,” said Flora surprisingly. “I am not a very kind person, nor is my cousin, but you will do it because I ask you to.” Blanco held Flora’s arm. He was about to pinch or twist it when, catching the eye of Felix who was walking abreast, he desisted, saying, “What about it, Flora?” Flora muttered, “All right, Hubert,”
