“No,” he said guiltily.

“I’m afraid you don’t very much care for this place,” she went on, because she knew now that he was not telling her the truth, and that something, indeed, was the matter.

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I was informed that the finest tea and the most perfect toast in Brighton were to be had in this lounge, and upon my soul I feel as if I could keep on having tea here for ever and ever amen!”

He was trying to be gay, but not very successfully.

“I don’t mean just here,” she said.  “I mean all this south coast.”

“Well—­” he began judicially.

“Oh!  Ed!” she implored him. “Do say you don’t like it!”

“Why!” he exclaimed.  “Don’t you?”

She shook her head.  “I much prefer the north,” she remarked.

“Well,” he said, “let’s go.  Say Scarborough.”

“You’re joking,” she murmured.  “You adore this south coast.”

“Never!” he asserted positively.

“Well, darling,” she said, “if you hadn’t said first that you didn’t care for it, of course I shouldn’t have breathed a word—­”

“Let’s go to-morrow,” he suggested.

“Yes.”  Her eyes shone.

“First train!  We should have to leave Rottingdean at six o’clock a.m.”

“How lovely!” she exclaimed.  She was enchanted by this idea of a capricious change of programme.  It gave such a sense of freedom, of irresponsibility, of romance!

“More toast, please,” he said to the waiter, joyously.

It cost him no effort to be gay now.  He could not have been sad.  The world was suddenly transformed into the best of all possible worlds.  He was saved!  They were saved!  Yes, he could trust Mimi.  By no chance would they be caught.  They would stick in their rooms all the evening, and on the morrow they would be away long before the Vaillacs were up.  Papa and “mamma” Vaillac were terrible for late rising.  And when he had got his magnificent Olive safe in Scarborough, or wherever their noses might lead them, then he would tell her of the risk they had run.

They both laughed from mere irrational glee, and Edward Coe nearly forgot to pay the bill.  However, he did pay it.  They departed from the Royal York.  He put his Olive into the returning Rottingdean omnibus, and then hurried to get his repaired bicycle.  He had momentarily quaked lest Mimi and company might be in the omnibus.  But they were not.  They must have left earlier, fortunately, or walked.

IV

When he was still about a mile away from Rottingdean, and the hour was dusk, and he was walking up a hill, he caught sight of a girl leaning on a gate that led by a long path to a house near the cliffs.  It was Mimi.  She gave a cry of recognition.  He did not care now—­he was at ease now—­but really, with that house so close to the road and so close to Rottingdean, he and his Olive had practically begun their honeymoon on the summit of a volcano!