"It isn't that," said Marlow. "Miss Drummond is coming to-morrow."
Tom Pitts stood stock still.
"By Jove! so she is! I had forgotten all about her. Are you going to meet her?"
"I think it would be only a neighbourly kind of thing to do."
"Certainly. Make my excuses to her, and tell her that the exigencies of a struggle for existence on the briny prevents me from accompanying you. And, by the way, in the morning tell Mother Simpson to look up a room for her, will you?"
"Yes, I will."
Next day Marlow walked across country to the station and met the only train that arrived from London. Following his advice, Alice Drummond sent on her impedimenta with the carrier, and then Marlow, jocularly quoting the words "There ain't no 'buses running," and so forth, was told that the girl much preferred to walk, therefore the two dawdled together until they reached the sight of the sea and the head of the declivity that led down into Pebblesdale.
The young woman was enthusiastic in her admiration of the place, and spoke of colour values, tones, atmosphere, and such-like jargon, which was as unknown to the Professor as his scientific nomenclature would have been incomprehensible to her.
