ry spiritual principle and conviction may be outraged, and yet for
some unaccountable reason pleasure remains."

Mrs. Howard opened her eyes wide as if at a sudden thought.

"Yes," she said. "I wish it were not true what you say, but it is--and
it is a great injustice."

"What makes you say that?" Henry asked, quickly. "You were thinking of
some particular thing. Do tell me."

"I was thinking how some people can sin and err in every way, and yet
there is something about them which causes them to be forgiven, and
which even causes pleasure while they are sinning; and there are others
who might do the same things and would be anathematised at once--and no
joy felt with them at any time. Moravia and I call it having 'it'--some
people have it, and some people have not got it, and that is the end of
the matter!"

"It is a strange thing, but I know what you mean. I know one particular
case of it in a friend of mine. No matter what he does, one always
forgives him. It does not depend upon looks, either--although this
actual person is abominably good-looking--it does not depend upon
intelligence or character or--anything--as you say, it is just 'it.' Now
you have it, and the Princess, perfectly charming though she is, has
not."

Sabine did not contradict him; she never was conventional, denying
truths for the sake of diffidence or politeness. Moravia was beautiful
and charming, but it was true she had not 'it.'

"I think it applies more to men than to women," was all she said.

"You were thinking of a man, then, when you spoke?"

"Yes--I was thinking of a man--but it is not an interesting subject."

Lord Fordyce decided that it was, but he did not continue it.

"I want you to tell me all about Heronac," he requested, "and what
charmed you in it enough to make you buy it suddenly like that. How did
you come upon it?"

"I had just arrived from America, at the end of July of 1908--four years
ago--and I found, when I got to Cherbourg, that I could not join my
friend, the Princess, as I had intended, because her husband had taken
her off to his country place near Naples. So I hired a motor and
wandered down into Brittany alone. I wanted to be alone. I was motoring
along, when a violent storm came on, furious rain and wind, and just at
the worst and weirdest moment, I passed Heronac, which is a few hundred
yards from the edge of the present village. It stands out in the sea on
a great spur of rock, entirely separated fr