Then, after an interminable time, Miss Craig called out cheerily; "There, that's enough for this morning," and came down to the dory, opening a little crocheted bag. From it she took two crisp one dollar bills. "Take this, girls, and divide it. And we are ever so grateful--you were splendid types. We'll have you again some day." Sidney's hand had barely closed over her dollar bill when she spied a woman and a girl slowly walking along the wharf, watching with interest the artists who were still at work. The girl looked startlingly familiar to Sidney. She gave a little gasp and ran forward. "_Pola!_" she called loudly. The girl turned in astonishment at the sound of her name, stared for a moment, then quickly advanced laughing. "Why, you're the Romley girl, aren't you? Of _all_ the things! What are you doing here?" "I'm visiting my aunt," explained Sidney, suddenly conscious of her appearance and in consequence painfully ill-at-ease. "Oh, and do they hire you to pose? What fun! I suppose that's a sort of costume they make you wear, isn't it?" "Y--yes," Sidney faltered, miserably. Pola's manner was prettily condescending and she made no move to join Sidney on the beach. "I'm a wreck myself," Pola went on, airily surveying her trim and elegant person. "Mother and I are motoring. And I made her bring me down here to see my cousin. He's an artist and lives here summers. He'll just despise seeing us because he comes here to get rid of everything home. And the car's broken down and goodness knows how long we'll have to stay." "Pola!" Her mother called sharply. Pola waved her hand toward her mother. "Yes, mamma!" Then, to Sidney, "Isn't it simply rare our meeting like this? It shows how small the world is. I must run now! By-by!" She gave the slightest flip of her hand in sign of leave-taking and, turning, ran lightly up the wharf toward her mother. Sidney's eyes followed her, devouring her dainty clothes, the tight-fitting motoring hat, the buckled pumps. Pola--the Pola she had carried enshrined in her heart! That heart hurt now, to the core. She had dreamed of a meeting sometime, somewhere, had planned just what it would be like and what she'd say and what Pola would say. And now Pola had turned a shoulder upon it. Mart's laugh behind her roused her. "Who's Guinevere, anyway? Her ma called her just in time--we might a hurt the doll-baby!" Sidney turned on Mart fiercely. "She's a friend of mine," she cried, in a voice she made rough to keep the tears from it. "And she's _not_ a doll-baby." "All right--go and play with her then--she's crazy about you, I guess." And with that Mart swung on her heel and stalked away, her head in the air. Poor Sidney hurried back to Sunset Lane to hide her humiliation and her dismay. For some reason she could not understand she had offended Mart. And Pola had snubbed her. It had indeed been a cruel fate that had brought Pola out on the wharf at that precise moment!