s in your direction."

"Of course I appreciate them, Marjorie Dean." Constance's habitually
wistful expression broke up in a radiant smile that set her blue eyes
dancing. "But I must confess, this minute, that I can live and be happy
if I never learn to swim."

"That settles it. In you go again."

Marjorie sprang energetically to her feet, and began dragging her
protesting friend down the beach to the water. Another fifteen
minutes' instruction followed, punctuated by much laughter on the
part of the two girls.

"There! I'll let you off for to-day," conceded Marjorie, at last. "Now,
come on. I have a hunch that there _is_ a letter for me. I haven't had
any letters for two whole days."

It was only a few rods from the bathing beach to the "Sea Gull," the
cottage in which the Deans were living. As they neared it, a
gray-uniformed figure was seen hurrying down the walk.

"It's the postman! What did I tell you?" Marjorie broke into a run,
Constance following close at her heels.

The two girls brought up flushed and laughing at the pretty,
vine-covered veranda, where Mrs. Dean sat, in the act of opening a
letter. Half a dozen other postmarked envelopes lay in her lap.

"Oh, Captain," Marjorie touched a hand to her bathing cap, "how many of
them are for me?"

"All of them except this, Lieutenant," smiled her mother, holding up the
letter she had been reading. "But why all this haste? I hardly expected
you back so soon. Five minutes before luncheon is your usual time for
reappearing," she slyly reminded.

"Oh, I had an unmistakable hunch that there was a letter here for me
from Mary, so I let Connie off easy on her lesson. I'll make up for it
to-morrow."

By this time Marjorie held in her hand the half-dozen envelopes, each
bearing its own special message from the various friends who held more
or less important places in her regard, and was rapidly going over them.

"Here's one from Jerry and one from Hal." The pink in her cheeks
deepened at sight of the familiar boyish hand. "One from Marcia Arnold,
another from Muriel Harding. Here's a tiresome advertisement." She threw
the fifth envelope disdainfully on the wicker table at her side.
"And--yes, here it is, in Mary's very own handwriting!"

Laying the other letters on the table with a carefulness that bespoke
their value, Marjorie hastily tore open the envelope that contained news
of her friend and drawing out a single closely written sheet of paper
said apol