down the road I saw the old boy returning, and, by George, the kid was still with him.
“Hallo!” I said. “Couldn’t you find her?”
I then perceived that Freddie was looking as if he had been kicked in the stomach.
“Yes, I found her,” he replied, with one of those bitter, mirthless laughs you read about.
“Well, then—?”
He sank into a chair and groaned.
“This isn’t her cousin, you idiot,” he said. “He’s no relation at all—just a kid she met on the beach. She had never seen him before in her life.”
“But she was helping him build a sandcastle.”
“I don’t care. He’s a perfect stranger.”
It seemed to me that, if the modern girl goes about building sandcastles with