to look at you----"

Lucy looked no more. He heard the lady draw in her breath with a soft,
sharp sound, and he felt his blood running scarlet to the roots of his
hair.

"I believe" (the older lady spoke almost vindictively) "you like it."

The head-waiter, opportune in all his approaches, brought coffee at that
moment. Lucy turned his chair slightly, so that he presented his back
to the speaker, and to the lady in black his side-face, shaded by his
hand, conspicuously penitential.

Jane tried to set everybody at their ease by talking in a clear, cool
voice about the beautiful decorations, the perfect management of the
hotel. The two drank their coffee hastily and left the table. In the
doorway Lucy drew the head-waiter aside.

"Who," said he, "is that lady in the window?"

"The lady in the window, sir? Miss Keating, sir."

"I mean--the other lady."

The head-waiter looked reproachfully at Lucy and apologetically at Jane.

"The lady in black, sir? You want to know her name?"

"Yes."

"Her _name_, sir, is Mrs. Tailleur."

His manner intimated respectfully that Lucy would not like Mrs.
Tailleur, and that, if he did, she would not be good for him.

The brother and sister went out into the hotel garden. They strolled up
and down the cool, green lawns that overhung the beach.

Lucy smoked and was silent.

"Jane," he said presently, "could _you_ see what she did?"

"I was just going," said Jane, "to ask you that."

"Upon my soul, I can't see it," said he.

"Nor I," said Jane.

"Could you see what _I_ did?"

"What you did?"

"Yes, I. _Did_ I look at her?"

"Well, yes; certainly you looked at her."

"And you think she minded?"

"No; I don't think she minded very much."

"Come, she couldn't have liked it, could she?"

"I don't know. I don't think she noticed it. You see" (Jane was off on
the adventure) "she's in mourning for her husband. He has been dead
about two years. He wasn't very kind to her, and she doesn't know
whether to be glad or sorry he's dead. She's unhappy and afraid."

"I say, how do you know all that?"

"I know," said Jane, "because I see it in her face; and in her clothes.
I always see things."

He laughed at that.

CHAPTER II

They talked a long time as they paced the green lawns, linked arm in
arm, keeping their own path fastidiously.

Miss Keating, Mrs. Tailleur's companion, watched them from her seat on
the veranda.

She had made her escape from the grea