Instantly she was sorry. But if Mrs. Stratford had heard her words, she made no comment. Mother and daughter sat for some time idly watching the crowd. Once or twice they recognized people they had known in Chicago, not intimate friends, but persons with whom they had a speaking acquaintance.
"There's Mrs. Brownville," exclaimed Mrs. Stratford, as an elderly woman with an elaborate hat walked down on the sands. "I will drop a line to her; probably Carlotta is here too, and they will be glad to see you."
"No, no, mamma," exclaimed Martine; "I never did like them, except at a distance, and I should hate to have them get in the habit of running to see us."
"They might not take the trouble to come at all; we are out of the way," rejoined her mother.
Martine made no further reply; her attention was fixed on a girl who was walking up from the sands past the end of the pavilion. She seemed to be looking directly at Martine, and the latter rose from her seat as if to speak to the other; but before she could make her way outside, this girl had passed on without a sign of recognition.
"That's a nice looking girl," said Mrs. Stratford.
"Yes," responded Martine. "That was Peggy Pratt."
"Peggy Pratt; isn't she a friend of yours?"
"A school friend," responded Martine bitterly. "But evidently she doesn't wish to recognize me here. I suppose she thinks that I'll be troublesome in some way."
"Perhaps she didn't really see you."