more desirable as a place of residence than the noisy Exeter
street where Edith had spent much of her life. Far back in the
past she could just remember a charming Surrey village with a
pretty vine-covered church where Daddy used to preach. She could
recall exactly how her fat legs dangled helplessly from the high
pew seat. Directly behind sat a stout farmer with four sons. The
boys made faces at Edith on the sly; their mother sometimes gave
her peppermints.

Edith's thoughts had wandered rather far afield, though still
alert for any gleam of the yellow shells, when she arrived
opposite Noirmont Terrace and reluctantly left the sands. A light
shone from the drawing-room and she knew that Annette would be
bringing in supper, and Sister would be found poring over a little
account book with a "don't speak just now" look in her eyes.

But Estelle proved to be waiting at the open door and as Edith
began to run on catching sight of her, she thought that Sister
somehow looked happier.

"Did you meet Mr. Angus?" Estelle inquired. "He went toward the
sands."

"I saw him in the distance," replied Edith. "Why, Star, you look
like--like a star," she ended laughing. "Was Mr. Angus agreeable?
Did he say you oughtn't to take people?"

"I think he doesn't wholly disapprove now," answered Estelle
gently. "And he is going to do what he can toward sending pleasant
lodgers. Wouldn't it be nice if some dear old ladies should come