f the shell; her great eyes, of
speedwell blue, are opened frankly and fearlessly on the whole world.
Taken singly, not one of her features is, perhaps, quite faultless; but
it would be hard to find a critic who could quarrel with the small face,
framed in waves of ruddy golden hair that go tumbling down below her
waist. You can see a freckle or two on the sides of her little nose, and
notice that her slender hands are browned by the sea-side sun; for Bee
is one of those lucky girls who are permitted to dabble freely in
salt-water, and get all the benefit that briny breezes can bestow.

"I couldn't come sooner," she says in a tone of apology. "We always have
to learn a hymn on Saturdays, and I've had _such_ a bother with Dolly.
She _would_ want to know where 'the scoffer's seat' was, and if it had a
cushion? And it does so worry me to try to explain."

"Oh, you poor thing--you must be quite worn out!" responds Claude, with
genuine sympathy. "But make haste; you haven't got your hat on yet."

Bee makes a little dive, and brings up a wide-brimmed sailor's hat with
a blue ribbon round it. She puts it on, fastens it securely under the
silken masses of her hair, and then declares herself to be quite ready.

In the next instant the girl and boy are walking side by side along the
shore, near enough to the sea to hear the soft rush of the tide. The
blue eyes are turned inquiringly on Claude's face, which is just a shade
graver than it ought to be on this delightful do-nothing day.

"Bee," he says after a silence, "I don't quite approve of your being
great friends with Crooke--Tim Crooke. What a name it is! He may be a
good sort of fellow, but he's not in our set at all, you know."

"He _is_ a good sort of fellow," she answers. "There's no doubt about
that. Aunt Hetty likes him very much. And he's clever, Claude; he can do
ever so many things."

"I dare say he can," says Mr. Molyneux, throwing back his head and
quickening his pace. "But you needn't have got so _very_ intimate. We
could have done very well without him to-day."

"He's Mr. Carey's pupil," remarks Bee quietly. "Aunt Hetty couldn't
invite Mr. Carey and leave out Tim."

"Well, we could have been jolly enough without Mr. Carey. It's a
mistake, I think, to see too much of this Tim Crooke; he isn't a
gentleman, and he oughtn't to expect us to notice him particularly."

"He doesn't expect anything; we like him; he's our friend." The soft
pink deepens on Bee's ch