chair she was saying
something perfunctory concerning the fete and Mrs. Ascott. And as he
offered no comment: "Don't you think her very charming and sincere....
Are you listening to me, Mr. Hamil?"

"Yes," he said. "Everybody was very jolly. Yes, indeed."

"And--the girl who adores the purple perfume of petunias?" she asked
mischievously. "I think that same purple perfume has made you drowsy, my
uncivil friend."

He turned. "Oh, you heard _that_?"

"Yes; I thought it best to keep a sisterly eye on you."

He forced a smile.

"You were very much amused, I suppose--to see me sitting
bras-dessus-bras-dessous with the high-browed and precious."

"Not amused; no. I was worried; you appeared to be so hopelessly
captivated by her of the purple perfumery. Still, knowing you to be a
man normally innocent of sentiment, I hoped for Mrs. Ascott and the
best."

"Did I once tell you that there was no sentiment in me, Calypso? I
believe I did."

"You certainly did, brother," she replied with cheerful satisfaction.

"Well, I--"

"--And," she interrupted calmly, "I believed you. I am particularly
happy now in believing you." A pause--and she glanced at him. "In fact,
speaking seriously, it is the nicest thing about you--the most
attractive to me, I think." She looked sideways at him, "Because, there
is no more sentiment in me than there is in you.... Which is, of course,
very agreeable--to us both."

He said nothing more; the chair sped on homeward. Above them the sky was
salmon-colour; patches of late sunlight burned red on the tree trunks;
over the lagoon against the slowly kindling west clouds of wild-fowl
whirled, swung, and spread out into endless lengthening streaks like
drifting bands of smoke.

From time to time the girl cast a furtive glance toward him; but he was
looking straight ahead with a darkly set face; and an ache, dull,
scarcely perceptible, grew in her heart as they flew on along the
glimmering road.

"Of what are you thinking, brother?" she asked persuasively.

"Of something I am going to do; as soon as I reach home; I mean _your_
home."

"I wish it were yours, too," she said, smiling frankly; "you are such a
safe, sound, satisfactory substitute for another brother." ... And as he
made no response: "What is this thing which you are going to do when you
reach home?"

"I am going to ask your mother a question."

Unquiet she turned toward him, but his face was doggedly set forward as
the chair