On the fifth day of her visit, Mr Griffiths, who had received some letters, said to Nesta: "You don't seem to be hearing from your people--at least I have not seen any letters addressed to you. I hope they are all right." "Oh, of course they are, no news is good news," said Nesta. He took no notice of her remark, being absorbed in his own affairs. When he had read one of his letters he looked at his wife. "I must go back to Newcastle this afternoon, but I'll return to-morrow," he said. "I'll call in, if you like, Nesta, and find out how your mother is." "Oh, please don't--I mean you really needn't," said Nesta. He raised his brows in some surprise. "I should think," he said slowly, "that a girl who has an invalid mother, would like to know how she is." Nesta coloured. She did not dare to say any more. She and Flossie had been having what she called a ripping time, that is, Nesta could enjoy herself in spite of her anxiety. But now things were changing. The yellow-boy had his limits; he was reduced in bulk until he had come down to a few pence. Between Nesta and that which made her so valuable in Flossie's eyes there was now but eleven-pence halfpenny. Nearly a shilling, a whole beautiful silver shilling, but not quite. When that was spent--and it would be spent that very day--Nesta would be of no special importance to Flossie Griffiths. Flossie was making friends, too, on her own account. There was a family of young people also staying at Scarborough, whom the Griffiths used to know. They boasted of the name of Brown. They were all good-natured, hearty, friendly young folks. But in the beginning Nesta had chosen to turn up her nose at them. In consequence they devoted themselves to Flossie, and left Nesta very much out in the cold. On the very day that Nesta was forced to spend her last pence on a feast for Flossie, Flossie calmly informed her that she was going early the next morning on a picnic with the Browns. "They haven't invited you--I'm sorry," said Flossie. "They might have done it, but I said you were going away. This is Friday, you know. You will have been with us a week to-morrow. I know father and mother will want you to stay until the middle of next week, at any rate, but, of course, you and I--knowing what we do--" Flossie giggled--"thought you would be gone long ago." "Well, I'm here," said Nesta, "and I wish I weren't." "Why do you say that? I'm sure we have done all we could to give you a real good time." "I think you hate me," said Nesta, in a passion. "Well, Nesta, I do call that ungrateful! But there, you're in the sulks, poor old girl. You thought you'd be awfully missed at home, and you see you are not one little bit." "I'm anxious about mother," said Nesta. "It's so queer none of them writing."