"Here's soombry comin'," remarked Jinny all at once, between two sucks
of a lemon drop.

John looked round without removing his arm. He gave a start, however,
as his eyes fell on the figure which was rapidly advancing towards
them along the irregular crest of the hill. Half unconsciously he
released Jinny, and turned over a little on the sand to avoid meeting
the direct gaze of the new-comer.

"It's nobbut wan o' they cocklers. You've no need to mind," remarked
Jinny a little petulantly. She had thought John's arm in the right
place.

John made no answer. He did not dare to raise his eyes, but his ears
were strained to catch the swift patter of the approaching bare feet.
If Sally should recognise him--_if_, of course she must--if she should
speak, what irreparable mischief might not be made in a few moments!

The steps came nearer; there was a pause, Dickinson's heart beating so
loudly that he feared his wife must hear it. He did not raise his
eyes, but from beneath their drooped lids he caught sight of Sally's
well-known skirt. He made no sign, however, and after what seemed an
interminable time the skirt brushed past, actually touching him, and
the soft _pat pat_ sounded a little farther off. Even then John did
not raise his eyes, but continued to draw patterns on the sand with
his forefinger. The silence seemed to him unbearable, and yet he did
not dare to break it. He could hear Jinny crunching her sugar-plums
with irritating persistency. Why did she not speak?

At last she edged round on the sand, and he felt that she was looking