est to Marjory, and
one of her favourite occupations was to go to Kensington Gardens or to
the Park and watch the people, weaving their life-stories in her
imagination. Driving about, shopping with Mrs. Forester in such shops as
threw the most important establishments in Morristown far into the
shade, in the streets, or even looking out of the windows at 50 Royal
Gate, there was this never-ending procession to speculate upon; so,
although the time was spent quietly, there was not a dull moment in that
week.

Then came another move, the excitement of another railway journey, and
then at last the sea. Marjory's wonder and delight were indescribable.
She had dreamed of the sea all her life. Her uncle had always promised
that some day he would take her to the seaside. He had always vaguely
said to himself that the child should be taken about when she was old
enough; but the years had slipped by until she was nearly fifteen, and
yet she had never seen the sea till now.

"Her beloved must cross the sea," she whispered to herself, as she stood
at the water's edge for the first time, looking over its shining
expanse, dancing and sparkling in the sun like myriads of diamonds in a
setting of blue. Nothing but the sea as far as the eye could reach--what
a sense of freedom and space and unbounded possibility! How she loved to
watch the rise and fall of the waves with their fringes of white, to
listen for the clatter of the shingle as it rushed along, keeping pace
with each receding wave! But, best of all, she loved to stand
barefooted on the shining sand when the tide was low, and to feel the
water lapping gently over her ankles.

The three girls (for Maud had begged her mother to spend at least half
their holiday at the little, unfashionable place Mrs. Forester had
chosen) spent long days by the sea--days of delight for all, and of the
gathering of health and strength for Marjory.

In the mornings the other two would usually bathe, Marjory looking on
from her deck-chair, and finding much amusement in the antics of the
bathers. She liked to watch Blanche in her pretty bathing suit, her hair
rippling over her shoulders, and Maud, too, with her coquettish little
cap amongst her fair curls. Thanks to her friend's tuition, Blanche was
now quite a good swimmer, and was endeavouring to teach Maud, and they
had great fun over it. Marjory herself was not allowed to bathe; she
might only wade sometimes at low tide.

The girl would lie