"But we haven't had tea yet."

"I don't care. I don't want tea out of a tin mug. I shall have it
comfortably at the lodgings, with a nice clean tablecloth and a
serviette. I'm tired of stupid picnics." And Belle flounced away down
the hill with anything but a sweet expression or a "Parisian" manner.

Isobel did not try to stop her. As the proverbial worm will turn, so
there are limits to the endurance of even the most devoted of friends,
and I think this afternoon she felt that Belle's conduct had reached a
climax for which no excuse could be made. The latter, who considered
herself both hurt in her feelings and offended in her dignity,
scrambled down to the shore, and calling Micky to her heels, set off
promptly for home.

"Hullo, Belle!" cried Bertie Rokeby, catching at her dress as she
hurried past the hut. "Look out, can't you! Don't you see that you're
trampling all over the shells that I've just laid out to sort on the
sand? What's the row? You look like a regular tragedy queen--Lady
Macbeth in the murder scene, or Juliet about to stab herself!"

"Let me go," said Belle crossly, trying to pull herself free. "What
horrid, rough things you boys are! Why can't you leave me alone, I
should like to know?"

"Humpty-Dumpty! We _are_ in a jolly wax," said Bertie. "You're as bad as
a cat with her back up. All the same, I don't want my shells smashed, so
please to mind where you're stepping."

"Bother your shells!" said Belle. "You shouldn't leave them lying about
in people's way. There! you've torn a slit in my dress. I knew you
would! Let me go, Bertie Rokeby, you mean coward!" And jerking her skirt
with an effort from his grasp, she started at a run along the beach, and
fled as fast as she could in the direction of Silversands.

She had reached the southern point of the island, where they generally
crossed the channel, and was hurrying on, not looking particularly where
she was going, her eyes half blinded with self-pitying tears, when,
turning the headland sharply, she ran full tilt against her quondam
acquaintance of the Parade, who was walking leisurely along the sands
with a cigar in his mouth and a breechloader under his arm. The
collision was so sudden and unexpected that Belle sat down swiftly in a
pool of slimy green sea-weed, while the gun, knocked by the impact from
its owner's grasp, struck the rock violently, and discharged both
barrels into the air. The colonel, who had been almost upset with the