It was really a beautiful cove.

There were groups of rocks with smooth pools amongst them, and in the silvery sand were numbers of tiny fragile shells, very pretty and delicate, and just the thing for a collection.
"It's a shame it should all belong to one man who probably hardly ever uses it," flamed Peachy.

"Now, if only we could all come down here to bathe, wouldn't it be a stunt?
The cove is really mostly under the garden of the Villa Camellia.

_I_ say it ought to belong to us." "It's ours for the moment at any rate," said Irene.
"Yes, isn't it great?
We've got it all to ourselves," rejoiced Delia, dancing along the beach with outstretched arms, like an incarnation of Zephyr or a spring vision of a sea-nymph.

She skimmed over the sand almost as if she were flying, but, as she reached the largest group of rocks, her exalted mood suddenly dissipated and her high spirits came down to earth with a thud.