d to fish."

"He went to worship and remained to fish," said Duane, laughing. The
girl lifted her face to look at him--a white little face so strange that
the humour died out in his eyes.

"He's a good deal of a man," she said. "It's one of my few pleasant
memories of this year--Mr. Grandcourt's niceness to me--and to all
women."

She set her elbow on the chair's edge and rested her cheek in her
hollowed hand. Her gaze had become remote once more.

"I didn't know you took him so seriously," he said in a low voice. "I'm
sorry, Geraldine."

All her composure had returned. She lifted her eyes insolently.

"Sorry for what?"

"For speaking as I did."

"Oh, I don't mind. I thought you might be sorry for yourself."

"Myself?"

"And your neighbour's wife," she added.

"Well, what about myself and my neighbour's wife?"

"I'm not familiar with such matters." Her face did not change, but the
burning anger suddenly welled up in her again. "I don't know anything
about such affairs, but if you think I ought to I might try to learn."
She laughed and leaned back into the depths of her chair. "You and I are
such intimate friends it's a shame I shouldn't understand and sympathise
with what most interests you."

He remained silent, gazing down at his shadow on the grass, hands
clasped loosely between his knees. She strove to study him calmly; her
mind was chaos; only the desire to hurt him persisted, rendered sterile
by the confused tumult of her thoughts.

Presently, looking up:

"Do you doubt that things are not right between--my neighbour's
wife--and me?" he inquired.

"The matter doesn't interest me."

"Doesn't it?"

"No."

"Then I have misunderstood you. What is the matter that does interest
you, Geraldine?"

She made no reply.

He said, carelessly good-humoured: "I like women. It's curious that they
know it instinctively, because when they're bored or lonely they drift
toward me.... Lonely women are always adrift, Geraldine. There seems to
be some current that sets in toward me; it catches them and they drift
in, linger, and drift on. I seem to be the first port they anchor in....
Then a day comes when they are gone--drifting on at hazard through the
years----"

"Wiser for their experience at Port Mallett?"

"Perhaps. But not sadder, I think."

"A woman adrift has no regrets," she said with contempt.

"Wrong. A woman who is in love has none."

"That is what I mean. The hospitality of Port Mallett