ither of you to be indoors for a minute on a morning like
this," she declared. "Esther is waiting for you in the car, I think, Mr.
Hamel."

Gerald passed on up the stairs to his room, but Hamel lingered. A
curious impulse of pity towards his hostess stirred him. The morning
sunlight seemed to have suddenly revealed the tragedy of her life.
She stood there, a tired, worn woman, with the burden heavy upon her
shoulders.

"Why not come out with Miss Fentolin and me?" he suggested. "We could
lunch at the Golf Club, out on the balcony. I wish you would. Can't you
manage it?"

She shook her head.

"Thank you very much," she said. "Mr. Fentolin does not like to be
left."

Something in the finality of her words seemed to him curiously eloquent
of her state of mind. She did not move on. She seemed, indeed, to
have the air of one anxious to say more. In that ruthless light, the
advantages of her elegant clothes and graceful carriage were suddenly
stripped away from her. She was the abject wreck of a beautiful woman,
wizened, prematurely aged. Nothing remained but the eyes, which seemed
somehow to have their message for him.

"Mr. Fentolin is a little peculiar, you know," she went on, her voice
shaking slightly with the effort she was making to keep it low. "He
allows Esther so little liberty, she sees so few young people of her own
age. I do not know why he allows you to be with her so much. Be careful,
Mr. Hamel."

Her voice seemed suddenly to vibrate with a curious note of suppressed
fear. Almost as she finished her speech, she passed on. Her little
gesture bade him remain silent. As she went up the stairs, she began to
hum scraps of a little French air.

CHAPTER XXIII

Hamel sliced his ball at the ninth, and after waiting for a few minutes
patiently, Esther came to help him look for it. He was standing down
on the sands, a little apart from the two caddies who were beating out
various tufts of long grass.

"Where did it go?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he admitted.

"Why don't you help look for it?"

"Searching for balls," he insisted, "is a caddy's occupation. Both the
caddies are now busy. Let us sit down here. These sand hummocks are
delightful. It is perfectly sheltered, and the sun is in our faces. Golf
is an overrated pastime. Let us sit and watch that little streak of blue
find its way up between the white posts."

She hesitated for a moment.

"We shall lose our place."

"There is no one