“Of course you hadn’t,” replied Marian. “Because I never dare let any one know my real feelings. I never have hated my life as I do since I have known you girls. You are just girls. That’s the beauty of it, and you have folks who love you and want you to stay girls and not ape grown up people all the time. I’d like to wear my hair in one braid, and run and romp and have a good time generally. Look at me. I look as though I were twenty-two at least, and I’m only seventeen. I have to wear my hair on top of my head and pretend to be something remarkable when I want to be just a plain every day girl. It’s intolerable. I won’t stand it any longer. I don’t see why I was ever born.”
“Poor Marian,” soothed Bab. “Don’t feel so badly. It will all come right some day. Let me be your friend. I believe I understand just how you feel. Perhaps your mother may——”
“Don’t speak of my mother!” ejaculated the girl passionately. “Sometimes I hate her. Do you know, Barbara, I often wonder if she is really my mother. Away back in my mind there is the memory of another face. I don’t know whether I have only dreamed it, or where it came from, but I like to think of that sweet face as belonging to my mother.”
Bab looked at Marian in a rather startled way. What a strange girl she was, to be sure. Suppose Mrs. De Lancey Smythe were not her mother. Suppose that Marian had been stolen when a baby. Bab’s active brain immediately began to spin a web of circumstances about Marian Smythe.
“Marian,” she began. But she never finished for just then a piercing cry rang out.
Nursemaids with children began running along the sands. Another nurse had run out into the water. She was wildly waving her arms and pointing to a small object well out on the waves. Barbara saw it for just an instant. Then it disappeared. She and Marian both recognized what it was. A child’s curly head had risen to the surface of the water, and then had sunk out of sight.
Quick as a flash Barbara kicked off her white canvas pumps and threw hat and linen coat on the ground.
Extending her hands before her, she ran out into the water. Marian ran blindly after her. The Count de Sonde was the only man near that part of the beach. He was behaving in a most remarkable manner. Entirely forgetful of the blood of scores of noble ancestors that ran in his veins, he had taken to his heels and his small figure was seen flying up the beach away from the water.
However, Bab was not thinking of aid. She made straight for the little head, which rose for the second time above the waves.
When Barbara reached the spot where she had last seen the child’s head she dived beneath the surface of the water.