"It would be a picnic," said Chatteris.
"I mean to help anyhow," said the Sea Lady.
"You know the case for the plaintiff?" asked Melville.
She looked at him.
"You've got your arguments?"
"I shall ask them to vote for Mr. Chatteris, and afterwards when I see them I shall remember them and smile and wave my hand. What else is there?"
"Nothing," said Chatteris, and shut the lid on Melville. "I wish I had an argument as good."
"What sort of people are they here?" asked Melville. "Isn't there a smuggling interest to conciliate?"
"I haven't asked that," said Chatteris. "Smuggling is over and past, you know. Forty years ago. It always has been forty years ago. They trotted out the last of the smugglers,—interesting old man, full of reminiscences,—when there was a count of the Saxon Shore. He remembered smuggling—forty years ago. Really, I doubt if there ever was any smuggling. The existing coast-guard is a sacrifice to a vain superstition."
"Why!" cried the Sea Lady. "Only about five weeks ago I saw quite near here———"
She stopped abruptly and caught Melville's eye. He grasped her difficulty.
"In a paper?" he suggested.
"Yes, in a paper," she said, seizing the rope he threw her.
"Well?" asked Chatteris.
"There is smuggling still," said the Sea Lady,
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