what their plans are, and
then it will be time to make any changes that are necessary in our own
arrangements."

"Do you mean you wouldn't stay here if they did, Miss Eleanor?"

"I won't say that, Margery. We don't know who they are yet. They may be
very nice people--there's no way of telling to-night. But if they turn
out to be undesirable, we can move quite easily, I think. There are
plenty of other beaches nearby where we'll be just as comfortable as we
are here."

"Oh, but I don't believe any of them are as beautiful as this one, Miss
Eleanor."

"Neither do I, Margery. Still, we can't always pick and choose the
things we do, or always do what pleases us best."

On the yacht everything seemed to be quiet. When the anchor had gone
down, the violin playing ceased, and, though the girls strained their
ears to listen, there was no sound of conversation, such as might
reasonably have been expected to come across the quiet water. Still
there was nothing strange about that. It might well be that everyone on
board was below, eating supper, and in that case voices would probably
not come to them.

"I'd like to own that yacht," said Dolly, gazing at her enviously. "What
a lot of fun you could have with her, Bessie! Think of all the places
one could see. And you wouldn't have to leave a place until you got
ready. Steamers leave port just as railroad trains pull out of a
station, and you may have to go away when you haven't half finished
seeing all the things you want to look at."

"Maybe they'll send a boat ashore soon," said Margery, hopefully. "I
certainly would like to see the sort of people who are on board."

"So would I," said Eleanor, but with a different and a more anxious
meaning in her tone.

"I wish that man with the violin would start playing again," said Dolly.
"I love to hear him, and it seems to me it's especially beautiful when
the sound comes to you over the water that way."

"Music always sounds best over the water," said Eleanor. "He does play
well. I've been to concerts, and heard famous violin players who didn't
play a bit better--or as well, some of them."

And just at that moment the music came to them again, wailing, mournful,
as if the strings of the violin were sobbing under the touch of the bow,
held in the fingers of a real master. The music blended with the night,
and the listening girls seemed to lose all desire to talk, so completely
did they fall under the spell of the player.

B