There had been intruders in Paradise before her. Broken bottles and
scraps of paper were defacing the hill turf, and when she turned to get
to the water's edge she found the rushy coverts trampled on every side.
From somewhere among the trees came the sound of singing--a silly
music-hall catch. It was a sharp surprise, and the girl, in horror at
the profanation, was turning in all haste to leave.
But the Fates had prepared an adventure. Three half-tipsy men came
swinging down the slope, their arms linked together, and bowlers set
rakishly on the backs of their heads. They kept up the chorus of the
song which was being sung elsewhere, and they suited their rolling gait
to the measure.
"For it ain't Maria," came the tender melody; and the reassuring phrase
was repeated a dozen times. Then by ill-luck they caught sight of the
astonished Alice, and dropping their musical efforts they hailed her
familiarly. Clearly they were the stragglers of some picnic from the
town, the engaging type of gentleman who on such occasions is drunk by
midday. They were dressed in ill-fitting Sunday clothes, great flowers
beamed from their button-holes, and after the fashion of their kind
their waistcoats were unbuttoned for comfort. The girl tried to go back
by the way she had come, but to her horror she found that she was
intercepted. The three gentlemen commanded her retreat.
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