"Hello!" she cried.
"Hello!" they replied. "Going to dance with us?"
"Of course," Gwen said shortly. "That's why I came here."
She was a fine little dancer, and soon the four were tripping lightly over the sand, the three bare footed, but Gwen with shoes and stockings on, splashing as gaily through the shallow water as if she did not know that she was ruining a fine pair of new shoes.
Her pale blue stockings would hardly be improved by a drenching in salt-water.
The others had urged her to take them off, but for that very reason, she stubbornly refused, and laughed as the water rushed about her ankles at the first step.
She knew that no reproof awaited her. Mrs. Harcourt hailed each new prank as a sure sign of her small daughter's originality.
Tormenting the pets that other guests had brought to the shore, hiding the embroidery frames that any lady might chance to leave lying on a chair, throwing hats or wraps over the piazza railing to drop at the foot of the cliff, all these things Mrs. Harcourt thought extremely amusing.
A pair of wet shoes would, of course, be very funny. Gwen was sure of that.
"Where's that new girl?" she asked when they paused to rest.