n so much to me. A visit to Mrs. Upgrove, my
mother's old friend, extended itself beyond my plans, largely because
of the pleasant acquaintance I formed there with her son, then
Captain, now Major Upgrove, one of the most charming men I have ever
encountered. Next to Roger he has become my best friend, incidentally
disproving a theory of mine that warm friendships between men are not
likely to be formed after thirty. Even as I write this chapter I am
looking forward to his visit, and the slim Hawaiian girls are looking
forward, too, I promise you, with wonderful, special garlands, and
smiles that many a handsome young sailor may jingle his pockets in
vain to win!

What is it, that strange, lasting charm that wins every woman-thing of
every age and colour? His mother told me that he had it in the cradle,
that the nurses were jealous over him and the sweet-shop women put his
pennies back into his pockets! Yes, Lona, and yes, Maiti, the
silver-haired Major is coming surely, and you shall surely dance!
Never mind the wreaths for me, dear hypocrites--they were never woven
for bald heads!

It was warm, almost as warm as this languid, creamy beach, the day I
clambered, none too agile, over the thwarts of Caliban's boat and made
my way up the sandy path to the cottage.

"I'm afraid the fever took it out of you, Jerry," Roger said, looking
hard at me, and I nodded briefly and he gripped my hands a little
harder.

"I'm glad you're here," he said.

Through the dear old room we stepped and out the further door, and
here a surprise met me. The straggling grass stretch was now a
rolling, green-hedged lawn, quartered by homelike brick paths. Two
long ells had been added to the house, running at right angles
straight out from it at either end, making a charming court of the
door yard and doubling the size of the building; the fruit trees had
been pruned and tended; an old grape arbour raised and trained into a
quaint sort of _pergola_, a strange sight, then, in America; a
beautiful old sun-dial drowsed in a tangle of nasturtiums. A delicate,
dreamy humming led my eyes to a group of beehives (always dear to me
because of the _Miel du Chamounix_ and our happy, sweet-toothed
boyhood!) and near a border of poppies, marigold and hardy mignonette
a great hound lay, vigilant beside a large, shallow basket, shaded by
a gnarled wistaria clump. The basket was filled with something white,
and as we stood in the door, a woman dressed in tra