August 15.—­Cleared up a bit, so we all took the train to Margate, and the first person we met on the jetty was Gowing.  I said:  “Hulloh!  I thought you had gone to Barmouth with your Birmingham friends?” He said:  “Yes, but young Peter Lawrence was so ill, they postponed their visit, so I came down here.  You know the Cummings’ are here too?” Carrie said:  “Oh, that will be delightful!  We must have some evenings together and have games.”

I introduced Lupin, saying:  “You will be pleased to find we have our dear boy at home!” Gowing said:  “How’s that?  You don’t mean to say he’s left the Bank?”

I changed the subject quickly, and thereby avoided any of those awkward questions which Gowing always has a knack of asking.

August 16.—­Lupin positively refused to walk down the Parade with me because I was wearing my new straw helmet with my frock-coat.  I don’t know what the boy is coming to.

August 17.—­Lupin not falling in with our views, Carrie and I went for a sail.  It was a relief to be with her alone; for when Lupin irritates me, she always sides with him.  On our return, he said:  “Oh, you’ve been on the ‘Shilling Emetic,’ have you?  You’ll come to six-pennorth on the ‘Liver Jerker’ next.”  I presume he meant a tricycle, but I affected not to understand him.

August 18.—­Gowing and Cummings walked over to arrange an evening at Margate.  It being wet, Gowing asked Cummings to accompany him to the hotel and have a game of billiards, knowing I never play, and in fact disapprove of the game.  Cummings said he must hasten back to Margate; whereupon Lupin, to my horror, said:  “I’ll give you a game, Gowing—­a hundred up.  A walk round I the cloth will give me an appetite for dinner.”  I said:  “Perhaps Mister Gowing does not care to play with boys.”  Gowing surprised me by saying:  “Oh yes, I do, if they play well,” and they walked off together.

August 19, Sunday.—­I was about to read Lupin a sermon on smoking (which he indulges in violently) and billiards, but he put on his hat and walked out.  Carrie then read me a long sermon on the palpable inadvisability of treating Lupin as if he were a mere child.  I felt she was somewhat right, so in the evening I offered him a cigar.  He seemed pleased, but, after a few whiffs, said:  “This is a good old tup’ny—­try one of mine,” and he handed me a cigar as long as it was strong, which is saying a good deal.

August 20.—­I am glad our last day at the seaside was fine, though clouded overhead.  We went over to Cummings’ (at Margate) in the evening, and as it was cold, we stayed in and played games; Gowing, as usual, overstepping the mark.  He suggested we should play “Cutlets,” a game we never heard of.  He sat on a chair, and asked Carrie to sit on his lap, an invitation which dear Carrie rightly declined.

After some species of wrangling, I sat on Gowing’s knees and Carrie sat on the edge of mine.  Lupin sat on the edge of Carrie’s lap, then Cummings on Lupin’s, and Mrs. Cummings on her husband’s.  We looked very ridiculous, and laughed a good deal.