The Channel waters were calm and placid as the blue sky above them. Though late autumn the temperature was that of mid-summer. At Calais every one landed as jauntily as though they had just gone through the pleasure of a short yachting trip. As usual there were all sorts and conditions of men and women, and again the curious, the grotesque, the impossible predominated. They streamed across the new quay in a disordered procession, struggling with all that amount of hand-baggage which gets into everyone's way but their own, as they hurry forward to secure for themselves the best seats and most comfortable corners.