ou something," Charmian said, sinking down on it. "I'm
very unhappy."

She looked again at the island and the tears came to her eyes.

"He never has even let me hear a note of his music!" she thought,
connecting Claude Heath's talent with the lilies and the palm in some
strange way that seemed inevitable.

Susan Fleet sat down and folded her white-gloved hands in her neat
tailor-made lap.

"I'm sorry for that," she said.

"And seeing that island, seeing all these lovely places and things makes
it so much worse. I didn't know--till I came here. At least, I didn't
really know I knew. Oh, Miss Fleet, how happy I could be here if I
wasn't so dreadfully wretched."

A sort of wave of desperation--it seemed a hot wave--surged through
Charmian. All the strangeness of Claude Heath flowed upon her and
receded from her, leaving her in a sort of dreadful acrid dryness.

"Surely," she said, "when you are in places like this you must feel that
nothing is of any real use if one has it alone."

"But I'm with you now," returned Miss Fleet, evidently wishing to give
Charmian a chance to regain her reserve.

"With me! What's the use of that? You must know what I mean."

"I suppose you mean a man."

Charmian blushed.

"That sounds--oh, well, how can we help it? It is not our fault. We have
to be so, even if we hate it. And I do hate it. I don't want to care
about him. I never have. He's not in my set. He doesn't know anyone I
know, or do anything I do, or care for almost anything I care
for--perhaps. But I feel I could do such things for him, that he will
never do for himself. And I want to do them. I must do them, but he will
never let me."

"I hope he's a gentleman. I don't believe in mixing classes, simply
because it seems to me that one class never really understands another,
not at all because one class isn't just as good as another."

"Of course he's a gentleman. Mrs. Shiffney asked him to come on the
yacht."

"Oh! Mr. Heath!" observed Miss Fleet.

Charmian thought she detected a slight change in the deep chest tone of
her companion's voice.

"D'you know him?" she asked, almost sharply.

"No."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, never. I only heard that he might be coming from Adelaide, and then
that he wasn't coming."

"He knew I was coming and he refused to come. Isn't it degrading?"

"Is he a great friend of yours?"

"No, but he is of my mother's. What must you think of me? What do you
think of me?"

Char