esn't care for Winnie
Rokeby, she might have had Aggie Wright or Ruth Barrington for her
special friend; she knows them both at home, and goes to all their
parties. Charlotte Wright says it's too hot to last, but that's just
because Aggie was jealous that Belle didn't ask her to go to tea the day
I went; and Letty Rokeby says we're bound to have a quarrel sooner or
later, but I'm sure we shan't, for there never seems anything to quarrel
about, and I couldn't imagine being out of friends with Belle."

On the afternoon following Isobel's adventure in the _Stormy Petrel_,
any one seated in the front windows of Marine Terrace might have been
interested in the movements of an elderly gentleman, who for the last
ten minutes had been slowly pacing up and down the broad gravel path in
front. He was a very stately old gentleman, with iron-gray hair and a
long, drooping moustache; he held himself erect, too, as if he were at
parade, and he had that air of quiet dignity and command which is
habitual to those who are accustomed to seeing their orders promptly
obeyed. Whether he was merely enjoying the fresh air and scenery, or
whether he was waiting for somebody, it was difficult to tell, since he
now lighted a cigar in a leisurely fashion, and cast an anxious, quick
look towards the houses, and, frowning slightly, would walk away, then
come back again as if he were drawn by some magnet towards the spot, and
must return there even against his will.

He was just passing the garden of No. 4 when the front door opened, and
Belle, who had been spending an hour with Isobel, sauntered down the
path, and closing the gate behind her, seated herself upon one of the
benches which the Town Council had put up that summer on the gravel walk
in front of Marine Terrace, as a kind of earnest of the promenade which
they hoped might follow in course of time. She spread out her pretty
pink muslin dress carefully upon the seat, rearranged her hat to her
satisfaction, and slowly fastened the buttons of her long kid gloves.
It was too early to go home yet, she thought, for her mother was out
with friends, and their tea-time was not until five o'clock, so she sat
watching the sea and the fishing-boats, and drawing elaborate circles
with her parasol in the gravel at her feet. She was quite unaware that
she was being very keenly observed by the old gentleman, who, having
followed her, walked past once or twice with an undecided air, and
finally settled hi