e how I'll change
from now on."

"The mischief is already done, unfortunately."

"All the same, we can't possibly change now," pleaded Diana. "What good
will it do us? . . . and you will get the worst of it, my dear. The
world is a bundle of snobs, and the people on the ship thoroughly
represent it. They will soon forgive me, but your crime will be
unpardonable. They will be simply furious with you for taking them in."

This was the tongue of truth, as April knew well. She looked at the
other girl ruefully.

"How can I trust you any longer? I saw you with those men on deck . . .
playing the fool . . . making yourself cheap. Oh, Diana, how can
you? . . . under my name or any other, you are still a lady with certain
rules to observe."

Diana flushed.

"You don't understand . . . I can't explain to you what it means to me to
break loose from convention for a little while . . . it's something in my
blood that has to come out. But, indeed, April, I swear to you if you
will only go on I will behave. I really will. I can't help what is
past, but there shall be nothing fresh for them to carp at in the future,
anyhow. Do be a sport and consent, won't you?"

In the end, by pleading, beguiling, and piling promise on promise, she
got her way, and thereafter the game went on--with a difference. They
still called her the April Fool, because names like that stick; but as
far as could be seen, she committed no fresh escapades to deserve the
title. Yet the real April Poole sometimes wondered if the last phase of
this folly was not worse than the first. She could not in justice deny
that Diana was much quieter and more orderly, but it seemed a pity that
her quietness should take the form of sitting for long hours at a time in
rapt silence with a certain extremely handsome man. This was Captain the
Hon. Geoffrey Bellew, on his way to South Africa as attache to a Governor
somewhere in the interior. He it was with whom Diana had been on such
happy terms the day of landing at Madeira. The two other men had been
cast forth like Gadarene swine. Bellew and Diana were sufficient unto
themselves. Eternally together, sometimes they walked the deck, or threw
quoits, or played two-handed card games; but ever they avoided large
companionable games, and always they sought the dusky corner in which to
sit undisturbed, gazing into each other's eyes. Strictly speaking, there
was nothing to cavil at in this. Numbers of other c