"Perfectly lovely," said Pat.
"Magnificent, in fact," I added ingratiatingly. "And where is the other?"
Fraulein Muller turned on me slowly.
"The other?
What other?
Do you want another then?
Aren't you satisfied with this one?"
"It's simply splendid," said I, "but—"
"But?" said Fraulein Muller a trifle sharply. "Unfortunately I have none better than this."
I was about to explain that we needed two single rooms when she added:
"But your wife thinks it very nice."
Your wife—I had the sensation of stepping two paces backwards. But I was still where I stood.
I stole a look at Pat, who was leaning by the window, with difficulty suppressing a laugh at seeing me there.
"My wife, certainly—" said I fixing my eye on the golden cross on Fraulein Muller's neck.
There was nothing for it; I dare not explain.
She would scream and fall in a faint. "Only we are accustomed to sleep in two rooms," said I. "Each in one, I mean."
Deprecatingly Fraulein Muller shook her head.
"Two bedrooms, when you are married—that is a new fashion surely."
"Not at all," said I before she should become suspicious. "Only my wife is a very light sleeper.
And unfortunately I snore rather loudly."
"Ach, so, you snore," replied Fraulein Muller, as if she might have guessed it long ago.
I was afraid she might now give me a room on the floor above, but marriage was evidently sacred to her.
She opened the door to a little room alongside, in which was nothing much but a bed.
"Excellent," said I, "that would be perfect.
But I won't be disturbing anyone else?" I wanted to find out whether we had the floor here to ourselves.
"You will disturb nobody," announced Fraulein Muller, her dignity falling from her. "Apart from yourselves there's not a soul here.
The other rooms are all empty." She stood a moment, then pulled herself together. "Will you eat here or in the dining room?"
"Here," said I.
She nodded and went. "Well, Frau Lohkamp," said I to Pat. "That's fixed us. . .But I would never have guessed the devil was such a churchman.
She doesn't seem to like me, does she?
Queer that, I usually have luck with old dames."
"That wasn't an old dame, Robby. That was a very nice old maid."
"Nice?" I gave a shrug. "Well, she has her nerve with her—so high and mighty and not a soul in the house!"
"She wasn't high and mighty at all."
"Not to you."
Pat laughed.
"I like her.
But now shouldn't we fetch the trunks and unpack the bathing things?"
I had been swimming an hour and was now lying on the beach in the sun.
Pat was still in the water.
Her white cap kept appearing in the blue swell of the waves.
Some gulls were circling overhead.
On the skyline a steamer moved slowly by with a trailing streamer of smoke.
The sun was blazing.
It melted every resistance to sleepy thoughtless abandonment.
I closed my eyes and stretched full-length.
The hot sand crackled.
The breaking of the feeble surf rustled in my ears.
It reminded me of something, of another day when I had laid just like this. . . .
It was summer, 1917.