e Coles and their friends beheld it, it was blazing in the
sun; soon the sun would pass and, during the whole afternoon, half of it
at least would lie in shadow, but the Le Pages could not be expected to
think of that.

The basket was unloaded from the jingle and carried down to the beach
by Mr. Cole and Jim. Jeremy, finding himself at the side of the lovely
Charlotte, was convulsed with shyness, the more that he knew that the
unhappy Mary was listening with jealous ears. Charlotte, walking like
Agag, "delicately," had a piteous expression in her eyes as though she
were being led to the torture.

Jeremy coughed and began: "We always come here every year. Don't you
like it?"

"Yes," she said miserably.

"And we paddle and bathe. Do you like bathing?"

"Going into the sea?"

"Yes."

"Oh, no! Mother says I mustn't, because it'll hurt my hair. Do you like
my hair?"

"Yes," said Jeremy, blushing at so direct an invitation to compliment.

"Mother says I've got to be very careful of my hair because it's my
chief beauty."

"Yes," said Jeremy.

"I have a maid, Alice, and she brushes a whole hour every morning and a
whole hour every evening."

"Don't you get very tired?" asked Jeremy. "I know I should."

"Mother says if you have such beautiful hair you must take trouble with
it," Charlotte gravely replied.

Her voice was so like the voice of a parrot that Jeremy's grandmother
had once possessed that it didn't seem as though a human being was
speaking at all. They were near the beach now and could see the blue
slipping in, turning into white bubbles, then slipping out again.

"Do you like my frock?" said Charlotte.

"Yes," said Jeremy.

"It was bought in London. All my clothes are bought in London."

"Mary's and Helen's aren't," said Jeremy with some faint idea of
protecting his sisters. "They're bought in Polchester."

"Mother says," said Charlotte, "that if you're not pretty it doesn't
matter where you buy your clothes."

They arrived on the beach and stared about them. It became at once a
great question as to where Mrs. Le Page would sit. She could not sit on
the sand which looked damp, nor equally, of course, on a rock that was
spiky and hard. What to do with her? She stood in the middle of the
beach, still holding up her skirts, gazing desperately about her,
looking first at one spot and then at another.

"Oh, dear, the heat!" she exclaimed. "Is there no shade anywhere?
Perhaps in that farm-house