my direction. I dropped my glass and smiled in a mixture of dismay and
amusement. Then I remembered that he was probably watching me again,
and might imagine my smile was meant for him. I banished it
immediately, shut my glass up and did not touch it again. Soon after
we came home.

July Twelfth.

Something has happened at last. Today I went to the shore as usual,
fully resolved not even to glance in the forbidden direction. But in
the end I had to take a peep, and saw him on the rocks with his glass
levelled at me. When he saw that I was looking he laid down the glass,
held up his hands, and began to spell out something in the deaf-mute
alphabet. Now, I know that same alphabet. Connie taught it to me last
year, so that we might hold communication across the schoolroom. I
gave one frantic glance at Aunt Martha's rigid back, and then watched
him while he deftly spelled: "I am Francis Shelmardine. Are you not
Miss Forrester, my sister's friend?"

Francis Shelmardine! Now I knew whom he resembled. And have I not
heard endless dissertations from Connie on this wonderful brother of
hers, Francis the clever, the handsome, the charming, until he has
become the only hero of dreams I have ever had? It was too wonderful.
I could only stare dazedly back through my glass.

"May we know each other?" he went on. "May I come over and introduce
myself? Right hand, yes; left, no."

I gasped! Suppose he were to come? _What_ would happen? I waved my
left hand sorrowfully. He looked quite crestfallen and disappointed as
he spelled out: "Why not? Would your friends disapprove?"

I signalled: "Yes."

"Are you displeased at my boldness?" was his next question.

Where had all Aunt Martha's precepts flown to then? I blush to record
that I lifted my left hand shyly and had just time to catch his
pleased expression when Aunt Martha came up and said it was time to go
home. So I picked myself meekly up, shook the sand from my dress, and
followed my good aunt dutifully home.

July Thirteenth.

When we went to the shore this morning I had to wait in spasms of
remorse and anxiety until Aunt got tired of reading and set off along
the shore with Mrs. Saxby. Then I reached for my glass.

Mr. Shelmardine and I had quite a conversation. Under the
circumstances there could be no useless circumlocution in our exchange
of ideas. It was relig