Here the brilliantly lit terrace was crowded with promenaders, and outside the yellow palings, surmounted by its row of lamps, rose the voice of the invisible sea.
Groups of people were sitting under the verandah, the women mostly in wraps, for the air was growing chilly.

Through the windows at their back an animated scene disclosed itself in the shape of a room-full of waltzers, the strains of the band striving in the ear for mastery over the sounds of the sea.

The dancers came round a couple at a time, and were individually visible to those people without who chose to look that way, which was what Paula did.
'Come away, come away!' she suddenly said.

'It is not right for us to be here.' Her exclamation had its origin in what she had at that moment seen within, the spectacle of Mr.George Somerset whirling round the room with a young lady of uncertain nationality but pleasing figure.

Paula was not accustomed to show the white feather too clearly, but she soon had passed out through those yellow gates and retreated, till the mixed music of sea and band had resolved into that of the sea alone.
'Well!' said her aunt, half in soliloquy, 'do you know who I saw dancing there, Paula?
Our Mr.Somerset, if I don't make a great mistake!' 'It was likely enough that you did,' sedately replied her niece.