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Excerpt: ...beach, and oh, how empty seemed the sea far, far behind the breakers of Biscay Bay! At the sight of those breakers, whose sound had been growing in her ears, Olwen gave an involuntary "Oh! Look at them!" From the hotel windows they seemed nothing more than a crawling white line. Here they were rushing monsters that seemed to shake the shore where they broke. They broke and spouted not more than fifty yards away, then swirled and seethed almost to the feet of the women in surf, in the lines that would be taken by boiling milk. Olwen stood nearest with spray on her cheeks, thunder in her ears, and a storm of unimagined whiteness before her eyes, finding it all riotously beautiful. But the last thing in the world that she expected was what Mrs. Cartwright then said: "I say! Let's bathe. It would be too gorgeous in there!" Miss Walsh, behind her, looked as if she could not believe her ears. "In October, dear Mrs. Cartwright?" Dear Mrs. Cartwright laughed as she threw out her arm towards the waters, soaring to crash, soaring again to crash. "That," she cried, "was going on before the months had names!" "Oh, but I never knew any one dreamed of bathing after August," murmured Miss Walsh, still clutching her hat, "and, besides!" (as if that settled it), "you haven't brought your things with you." "That's just what I meant," declared Mrs. Cartwright, taking a deep breath. "I'm going in." "Oh, please don't!" protested Olwen. "I can swim quite well, but any one can see that's dangerous. Supposing you were caught in and swept away. Oh, I wouldn't." "I shouldn't dream of letting you, child," cried Mrs. Cartwright gaily. "I'm going in," and she stooped to unlace the brown thongs of her sandalettes. "Oh! I'll go on and gather shells, then," said Agatha Walsh (hurriedly turning her back as if she dreaded to let her eyes fall upon some repellent sight, reflected Mrs. Cartwright, with amusement). The elder woman was of the type that, under such circumstances, makes...

Hendon! An exquisite May afternoon, still and sunny. Above, a canopy of unflecked sapphire-blue. Below, the broad khaki-green expanse of the flying-ground, whence the tall, red-white-and-blue pylons pointed giant fingers to the sky. Against the iron railings of the ground the border of chairs was thronged with spectators; women and girls in summery frocks, men in light overcoats with field-glasses slung by a strap about them. The movement of this crowd was that of a breeze in a drift of coloured petals; the talk and laughter rose and fell as people looked about at the great sheds with their huge lettered names, at the big stand, at the parked-up motors behind the seats; at the men in uniform carrying their brass instruments slowly across to the bandstand on the left. At intervals everybody said to everybody else: "Isn't this just a perfect afternoon for the flying?"