be
home."

She shook her head, and a wistful smile came into her face as she
answered:

"Sometimes I wish I were back there. Now that I've returned, it's the
same social treadmill again--the same exhausting round of teas,
receptions, dinners, and all the rest, hearing women talk nothing but
dress and scandal and bridge until you begin to think there is nothing
else in the world worth discussing. It's nauseating. When I think of
those ideal days on the little island--the life of perfect peace under
the cool trees by the silver sea--doing cheerfully each day's allotted
task, helping you as best I could--when I think of how happy I was
leading that lonely peaceful existence, I'm almost sorry we were
rescued."

A glad smile broke over his face. His eyes flashed and his mouth
trembled slightly as he eagerly bent forward.

"Really?" he said. "You were happier then?"

She flushed and then turned pale. He hardly heard the low answer that
came from her lips:

"I don't know."

His steady gaze embarrassed her. She was afraid that he might read the
secret which lay deep in her heart. Rising abruptly from her seat by the
window, she crossed the room, stopping near a side table to arrange some
American beauty roses in a vase. Armitage rose and followed her.

"Tell me," he persisted eagerly. "Were you happier then than you are
now?"

"Suppose we change the subject," she said hastily, without turning
round. "Let us talk about you and your plans. So you're going to
England?"

He nodded gravely.

"I sail on Saturday. I came to say good-by."

Grace nervously plucked one of the roses and crushed its soft, perfumed
petals against her face. Her head still averted, she said: "But you'll
come back?"

"No--never," he replied firmly.

She made no reply, and, as he could not see her face, he did not know
that tears were in her eyes and that her lips were trembling. She could
not speak without betraying her feelings. An awkward silence followed.

Armitage stood watching her. This girl loved him--he was convinced of
that now. Only her pride was keeping them apart. A struggle for the
mastery was going on within her, between her artificial self and her
true self. One word from him and she would know that she had no reason
to be ashamed of the man to whom she had given her love; that, on the
contrary, she might be proud to be his wife. But that one word he was
determined not to speak. He owed that much to his manhood, to his
sel