‘What do you mean?’ said Giles, grabbing the shell from her. ‘You heard voices in the shell? You must be dreaming. I knew it could grow hot and cold. But voices? ... Let me listen.’
The boy held it to his own ear.
‘Nothing,’ he said after a moment. ‘Nothing but the old sea roaring.’
‘But wait!’ cried Anne. ‘Wait till it grows warm again. That’s when I heard voices.’
Giles brought the shell to rest upon the table.
‘Hark to me, Anne,’ he said severely. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you believe this shell can talk?’
‘I would not have done,’ said Anne gently, ‘if I had not heard it. But the shell isn’t talking itself. It’s only letting you hear what other people say.’
‘Such rubbish!’ Giles grunted. ‘Such rub—Ow—oo!’
He snatched his hand from off the shell.
‘Don’t mind if it grows warm,’ said Anne. ‘Remember what Agnes said. Listen now before it gets cold again.’