When afternoon came Miss Stuart relented and she and Helen, with little Gladys between them, started off in the buckboard for Crescent Beach. It was a beautiful drive. For a short distance the road wound through fragrant meadows and wooded lanes until it came out upon the beach, where for several miles it led straight away over the hardened sands. They bowled swiftly along, the fresh salt wind blowing in their faces, the soothing sound of the ebb and flow of the restless waters breaking softly on their ears. Miss Stuart, exhilarated by the clear air, the brilliant sunshine and the congenial companionship of this friend whom she really loved, had never appeared to a greater advantage. It was the Lillian Stuart who might have been whose cleverness and glancing wit held Helen's mind enthralled, as they talked of all the subjects dear to women's hearts. All too soon they reached their destination. As they drew up under the _porte-cochère_ of the hotel, Helen found herself wishing with all her heart that Lillian might continue in so charming a mood. Presently Mrs. Maynard joined them in the vast hotel parlor, and as Miss Stuart went forward to greet her with great cordiality, Helen had no fault to find with her manner. They chatted together for some few moments when Miss Stuart recognized some friends of hers in a party of people who had wandered in from the piazza. She excused herself, and as she joined them Mrs. Maynard turned to Helen. "Don't you want to come up to my room for a few moments, Helen? I am sure that Dorothy would be very glad to see Gladys." The child jumped instantly down from her chair, her chubby face beaming with eager anticipation. "Gladys has accepted for me," said Helen with an amused smile, and the two made their way upstairs. "What a lovely view you have!" exclaimed Helen as she dropped into a chair near the open window. "It is pretty," Mrs. Maynard assented, pushing open a door which led into the next room. A beautiful little child sat in the middle of the floor, hugging a big woolly lamb close to her heart. "Dorothy, will you please come here, and speak to little Gladys Lawrence, who has come to see you?" At her mother's bidding, Dorothy struggled to her feet, and clutching the lamb tightly in both hands, ran toward the open door. Then she caught sight of Helen, and the big violet eyes were swiftly veiled, and the little head with its tangled mass of golden curls was hidden in the folds of her mother's skirt. Mrs. Maynard smiled in gentle reproof as she lifted the child's face. "What a baby, darling! Please be a good little girl and say 'how-do-you-do' to Gladys." Dorothy still hung back, clinging fast to her mother's hand; but Gladys, who was the most friendly little creature in the world, soon succeeded in overcoming her shyness. Presently they were chattering together as happily as possible, and Dorothy went so far as to produce her box of paper dolls and to dress them for Gladys' benefit.