enheims dine at seven, and Blanche always has to dress. I'll come
for a walk then, if you'll call for me. I must go now; the others are
waiting."

Isobel went away with a rather blank feeling of disappointment. She had
grown so accustomed to Belle that it seemed quite strange to be without
her, and the morning passed slowly, in spite of the pancakes which she
helped Letty and Winnie to mix and toss over the fire. She felt she was
only giving half her attention to the raft that the boys kept calling
her to admire, and that her thoughts were continually with Belle, trying
to imagine what she was doing, and wondering if she were enjoying
herself. Mrs. Stewart had found the walk to the White Coppice such a
strain on her weak ankle that she would not dare to venture any great
exertion for several days, so her intended expedition to the island to
sketch the runic cross had perforce to be put off. She and Isobel
carried their tea to the beach close by that afternoon, and drank it
under the shade of a rock; but though it was pleasant sitting close to
the lapping waves, and Mrs. Stewart had brought a new book to read
aloud, Isobel's mind would wander away to the garden near the woods
where Belle was playing tennis, and she would recall herself with a
start, realizing that she had not taken in a single word of the story.

She went round, according to her promise, soon after six o'clock, to
find Mrs. Stuart and her friend deep in patterns of dress materials,
price lists, catalogues, and copies of the _Queen_, and other ladies'
newspapers.

"The Oppenheims are giving a garden-party next Tuesday," explained
Belle. "They have a great many friends staying in the neighbourhood who
will drive over. They've asked me, and I haven't a thing fit to go in.
My white silk's too short, the pink crape's quite crushed, the blue
muslin won't look nice after it's washed, and my merino's hardly smart
enough. I must have a new dress somehow."

"I don't generally like you in ready-made clothes, Belle," said Mrs.
Stuart, "but really this embroidered silk in the advertisement looks
very pretty, and Peter Robinson's is a good shop. I think I shall risk
it. There will be just time, if I catch this post. Would you rather have
the blue or the pink?"

"The blue," said Belle promptly, "because of my best hat. You'd better
write for some more forget-me-nots at the same time; the ones in the
front are rather dashed. I can wear my blue chain and the turquoi