outside the charmed circle of the holidays. Beyond, when she thought
about it all, lay a nebulous prospect, in the center of which school
loomed large.

On this particular hot August afternoon, Ingred welcomed an excursion in
the sidecar. She had not felt inclined to walk down the white path
under the blazing sun to the glaring beach, but it was another matter to
spin along the high road till, as the fairy tales put it, her hair
whistled in the wind. Egbert was anxious to set off, so Hereward took
his place on the luggage-carrier, and, after some back-firing, the three
started forth. It was a glorious run over moorland country, with
glimpses of the sea on the one hand, and craggy tors on the other, and
round them billowy masses of heather, broken here and there by runnels
of peat-stained water. If Egbert exceeded the speed-limit, he certainly
had the excuse of a clear road before him; there were no hedges to hide
advancing cars, neither was there any possibility of whisking round a
corner to find a hay-cart blocking the way. In the course of an hour
they had covered a considerable number of miles, and found themselves
whirling down the tremendous hill that led to the seaside town of
Chatcombe.

Arrived in the main street they left the motorcycle at a garage, and
strolled on to the promenade, joining the crowd of holiday-makers who
were sauntering along in the heat, or sitting on the benches watching
the children digging in the sand below. Much to Ingred's astonishment
she was suddenly hailed by her name, and, turning, found herself greeted
with enthusiasm by a schoolfellow.

"Ingred! What a surprise!"