is out of tune."

CHAPTER XXI

The Blue Grotto

Very early on Saturday morning Mr. Carson returned to Capri in a
sailing vessel, having taken advantage of a night crossing and arriving
with the dawn. Lorna had bidden her friends a temporary good-by for the
week-end, refusing all kind invitations of "bring your father to see
us," or "tell him he must join the Clan." She felt that her excuses for
him were of the flimsiest; she said he was tired, unwell, and needed
absolute rest and solitude, and begged them to forgive her if she spent
the time with him alone, and, though they replied that they could
understand his desire for quiet, she was conscious that they thought she
might at least have volunteered an introduction. Lorna knew only too
well that, if her father was aware there was the slightest danger of
meeting English people, he would probably insist upon taking the next
boat back to Naples; it was the consciousness of complete isolation that
gave the value to his holiday. She told him indeed that she had met some
of her school friends and had taken walks with them, but she mentioned
that they were staying down below, nearer the Marina, and that they were
not in the least likely to come up to the Casa Verdi.

"Let us take our books, Daddy," she suggested, "and go and sit on the
hillside as we did last Sunday. It was quiet on that ledge of the crag,
and away from everybody. The rest did you good, and I'm sure you enjoyed
it."

Lying on the cliff among the flowers, with blue sky above and blue sea
beneath, poor Mr. Carson allowed himself a temporary relaxation. He
smoked his pipe and read his paper, and for a little while at least the
hard lines round his mouth softened, and his anxious eyes grew easy. He
finished his Italian journal, lay idly watching the scenery, chatted,
dozed, and finally stretched out his hand for one of Lorna's books. It
happened to be an Anthology of Poetry which Irene had lent her, and
which contained one of the ballads that Mrs. Cameron had recited to the
assembled Clan. It had struck Lorna's fancy, and she was trying to learn
it by heart. Mr. Carson turned over the pages, read a few of the pieces,
and was closing the little volume when his eye chanced to light upon the
name written on the title page. Its effect upon him was like a charge of
electricity.

"David Beverley," he gasped. "David Beverley! Lorna! Great Heavens! By
all that's sacred, where did you get this?"

[Illust