“I suppose it would be too pointed for us to run away,” said Amy to Jessie, as Bill Brewster drove the pony carriage out on to the beach.
“Belle has got her eye on us, that is a fact,” agreed Jessie.
She was curious, especially after what their new friend had told them an hour before about the story that Belle Ringold was circulating. Belle was eager to talk—as she always was.
“So your folks got one of these bungalows, did they, after all, Jess Norwood?” she began. “I suppose you know there is no surety that you can keep it a month?”
“I don’t know about that. I guess father attended to the lease. And he is a lawyer, you know,” said Jessie, quietly.
“Pooh! Yes,” said Belle, tossing her head. “But there are lawyers and lawyers! My father has the smartest lawyer in New York working for him. And I suppose you know about the claim he has against all the middle of this island?”
“We have heard that you have a claim on the island—or think you have,” said Amy slyly. “But, then, Belle, you always did think you owned the earth.”
“Now, Miss Smartie, don’t be too funny! Father is going to prove his right to the golf course and all these bungalows. Don’t you fear— Why! There’s that terrible Henrietta Haney! How did she come here?”
“She is with us,” said Jessie shortly.
“Oh, indeed! One of your week-end guests, I suppose?” scoffed Belle. “We are entertaining General O’Bigger and Mrs. O’Bigger at the hotel. Of course, we would not live in one of these small bungalows—not even if we needed a vacation.”