"Peggy Pratt; isn't she a friend of yours?" "A school friend," responded Martine bitterly. "But evidently she doesn't wish to recognize me here. I suppose she thinks that I'll be troublesome in some way." "Perhaps she didn't really see you." "She couldn't help it," replied Martine. That very day an invitation from Edith Blair came to Martine. "Mother and I," wrote Edith, from the North Shore, "would both be delighted to have a visit from you, a fortnight at least, a month if you can stay as long. Your mother, we hear, is much better, and she surely does not need you all the time." For a moment Martine was strongly tempted to show the letter to her mother, who, she knew, would certainly urge her to accept the invitation. It is true that Edith and her friends were some years older than Martine, but the latter knew that they would do their best to give her a good time. She would have a fine riding-horse, there would be trips of all kinds up and down the shore, and delightful afternoons at the Essex Country Club, pleasant evenings on the Blairs' piazza after dinners with bright and agreeable people. Under these circumstances, she could put up for a time with the patronizing manners of her mother's cousin, Mrs. Blair; for Edith was always sweet and agreeable, if a little slow. Really, it would be sensible to spend two weeks in this way. She could make herself more entertaining to her mother on her return. But here Martine drew herself up. Duty for the time being presented only one face; her place, for the present, was at Red Knoll; so without mentioning the invitation, she merely gave her mother the personal messages contained in Edith's letter. CHAPTER XX THE ISLES OF SHOALS It never rains but it pours. A day or two after their visit to the bathing beach, Martine and her mother were seated in their nook under the trees. It was early afternoon, and, as usual, Angelina was off for a stroll. "Why, there are some visitors," exclaimed Mrs. Stratford, and Martine looked up to see two ladies approaching the front door. Martine wouldn't have been a girl, if she hadn't glanced down involuntarily at her dress. "You look very well," said her mother, understanding her glance. "Well, I hate to have to play the part of maid," said Martine, "but it can't be helped now." So, laying down the book from which she had been reading aloud, she went over toward the newcomers.