fore the coming storm. For the rest of the afternoon Zura had
little to say. Book in hand she sat in the windowseat overlooking the
water, watching the snow-white sails skim the opal sea.

I made no further explanation of Mr. Chalmers or his call, thinking it
best to await the arrival of his note.

It came just before night. The reading of it left Zura white. She looked
at me stonily, "I suppose," she began, stiff with anger, "that you did
this."

"I did," I answered, looking into her blazing eyes.

"And I suppose too," she continued with withering scorn, "that was why
the gay cavalier kissed your hand. I saw him through the window. So
touching! That's what you were plotting when I found you in the garden.
Page Hanaford was in it too; I saw it in his face. I hate him! I hate
everything! Oh!" she cried, with a sudden outburst of passion, "the lot
of you are a pack of withered mummies. Not one of you know what it means
to be homesick; how I'm aching for a good time! Yes, I was going with
Pinkey to have a picnic on the island. Yes, I was going to slip off
without telling you. How could you understand? What was the harm in my
having a little pleasure? Do you think I intend to bend to the rules of
this law-cursed country? No, I will not! I'll go where I please. I'll
have my own friends!"

As gently as I could I forced her to go to her room and listen to what I
had to say. I related what had passed between Mr. Chalmers and me, of
the fatal thing she was contemplating and how her grandfather had
appealed to me for help. Never had I dreamed of such passion, such grief
in a young girl. She was like some wild thing, trying to beat its way to
freedom through prison bars.

No word of mine, however tender, seemed to touch her. I began to feel
useless, miserable, and a joy killer in general. I almost wished for the
dull days of old; at least I knew how to deal with them. I could give
points to the Minister of Education, talk volubly at Mothers' Meetings
and translate Confucius from the original, but I was helpless before
this girl in her conflict with conditions to which she could never yield
and which she fought with all the fierceness of undisciplined strength.
I could think of no word to comfort her. I sought to divert her. "Zura,
listen! Do you remember the hat I wore the first day I came to see you?
You do remember, for I saw you smiling at it. Well, I've worn it for
eight years. Don't cry, Dearie; please don't; and I'll l