"I-S-A-B-E-L-L-E S-T-U-A-R-T."
"And mine's spelt I-S-O-B-E-L S-T-E-W-A-R-T, so that makes a little difference."
"So it does. I'm called 'Belle,' too, for short. Are you?"
"No; never anything but Isobel."
"It's funny. We're the same name and the same age, and we're staying in the same terrace. I think it is what you'd call a 'coincidence.' We came to Silversands on the same day, too, and in the same railway carriage. We ought to be twin sisters. You're really rather like me, you know, only you're pale, and your hair doesn't curl."
Isobel shook her head. She had a very modest opinion of her own attractions, and would not have dreamt of comparing her appearance with that of her pretty companion, so very far did she think she ranked below the other's style of beauty.
"I should like to be friends, at any rate," she said shyly. "Perhaps I shall see you again upon the shore. I'm afraid that's your mother calling you. I think I ought to go home now too; I didn't mean to be out so long."
Isabelle Stuart sprang to her feet.
"Yes, it's mother calling," she said. "She's walked up with Mrs. Rokeby. I must fly. But I hope we shall meet again. I shall look out for you on the sands. Good-bye!"