o Mr. Carey.

"You are quite right," Mr. Carey answers thoughtfully.

Dolly comes running up to the group with shrill cries showing a little
live crab in her small palm. A faint breeze is blowing off the sea, the
west grows golden, and Aunt Hetty rises from her seat on the beach.

"We must be going home now," she says. "Claude, dear boy, will you look
for my shawl?"

Claude obediently goes into the cottage to bring out the wraps; Mr.
Carey hastens off to summon Drake; and Tim finds himself, for a few
seconds, by Bee's side.

"Hasn't it been a lovely afternoon?" she says. "I've been so happy,
haven't you? Oh, Tim, Claude has told me something!"

"Is it a secret?" Tim asks.

"No, he didn't say so. He says it was arranged years ago that he is to
take me out to India, by-and-by. I'm so glad, Tim; I'd go anywhere with
Claude."

The golden glow that shines on Tim's face seems to dazzle him, and he
turns his head away from the speaker.

"I'm glad that you are glad, Bee," he says quietly. And that is all.

CHAPTER III.

Sunday morning dawns, hot and still, but clearer than the day before.
Aunt Hetty and her nieces are sitting in the bay-windowed room, which
has the usual furniture of seaside lodgings. They have just gone through
their morning readings, and are ready to begin breakfast when Claude
comes downstairs.

"How is the wrist, dear boy?" Aunt Hetty asks tenderly.

In jumping out of the boat last night he has managed to get a sprain,
but is disposed to treat the matter lightly.

"Oh, it will soon be well, thanks," he says, taking his place, and
giving a smile to Bee.

A little later they all set out for church, and Bee and Claude attract
many an admiring glance as they walk together along the terraces. She
wears her new frock, of some soft creamy stuff, and a quaint "granny"
bonnet of ivory satin lined with pale blue; her short skirts display
silk stockings and dainty little shoes of patent leather. Aunt Hetty,
her tall thin figure draped with black lace, follows with Dolly, that
little witch of eight years old, who is the pet and plague of the good
lady's life. Other seaside visitors look after the party from Nelson
Lodge, and discuss them freely among themselves; but they do not speak
from personal knowledge of Lady Henrietta Jocelyn and her charges. All
they know is that Lady Henrietta is the maiden aunt of the two girls,
and that they were committed to her care by her brother who died in
India.