oes not follow that he
is a wise one."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Tell me one of those many ways of living which are worth while!"
she whispered. "Point out one of them only. Remember that I, too,
have the spirit of restlessness in my veins. I must have excitement
at any cost."

He sighed. She was, indeed, in a strange place.

"It seems so hopeless," he said, "to try and interest you in the
ordinary things of life."

"No one could do it," she admitted. "I was not made for domesticity.
Sometimes I think that I was not made to be wife to any man. I am a
gambler at heart. I love the fierce draughts of life. Without them I
should die."

"Yet you married Samuel Weatherley!" Arnold exclaimed.

She laughed bitterly.

"Yes, I was in a prison house," she answered, "and I should have
welcomed any jailer who had come to set me free. I married him, and
sometimes I try to do my duty. Then the other longings come, and
Hampstead and my house, and my husband and my parties and my silly
friends, seem like part of a dream. Mr. Chetwode--Arnold!"

"Fenella!"

"We were to be friends, we were to help one another. To-night I am
afraid and I think that I am a little remorseful. It was my doing
that you dined to-night with Andrea. I have wanted to bring you,
too, into the life that my brother lives, into the life where I also
make sometimes excursions. It is not a wicked life, but I do not
know that it is a wise one. I was foolish. It was wrong of me to
disturb you. After all, you are good and solid and British, you were
meant for the other ways. Forget everything. It is less than a week
since you came first to dine with us. Blot out those few days. Can
you?"

"Not while I live," Arnold replied. "You forget that it was during
those few days that I met you."

"But you are foolish," she declared, laying her hand upon his and
smiling into his face, so that the madness came back and burned in
his blood. "There is no need for you to be a gambler, there is no
need for you to stake everything upon these single coups. You
haven't felt the call. Don't listen for it."

"Fenella," he whispered hoarsely, "what was I doing when Samuel
Weatherley was shipwrecked on your island!"

She laughed.

"Oh, you foolish boy!" she cried. "What difference would it have
made?"

"You can't tell," he answered. "Has no one ever moved you, Fenella?
Have you never known what it is to care for any one?"

"Never," she replied. "I only hope that I