time. I thought a
first visit to Africa must be a wonderful experience."

"But, then--why refuse to come?"

She gazed full into his face, and made her long eyes look impertinent,
challenging. Mrs. Mansfield felt very uncomfortable.

"I!" said Heath. "Oh, I didn't know I was in question! Surely we were
talking about the impression Algiers made upon you."

"Well, but if you condemn me for not being more enthusiastic, surely it
is natural for me to wonder why you wouldn't for anything set foot in
the African Paradise."

She laughed. Her nerves felt on edge after the journey. And something in
the mental atmosphere affected her unfavorably.

"But, Miss Charmian, I don't condemn you. It would be monstrous to
condemn anyone for not being able to feel in a certain way. I hope I
have enough brains to see that."

He spoke almost hotly.

"Your mother and I had been imagining that you were having a wonderful
time," he added. "Perhaps it was stupid of us."

"No. Algiers is wonderful."

Heath had changed her, had suddenly enabled her to be more natural.

"I include Mustapha, of course. Some of the gardens are marvellous, and
the old Arab houses. And I think perhaps you would have thought them
more marvellous even than I did."

"But, why?"

"Because I think you could see more in beautiful things than I can,
although I love them."

Her sudden softness was touching. Heath had never been paid a compliment
that had pleased him so much as hers. He had not expected it, and so it
gained in value.

"I don't know that," he said hesitatingly.

"Madretta, don't you agree with me?"

"No doubt you two would appreciate things differently."

"But what I mean is that Mr. Heath in the things we should both
appreciate could see more than I."

"Pierce deeper into the heart of the charm? Perhaps he could. Oh, eat a
little of this chicken!"

"No, dearest mother, I can't. I'm in a Nebuchadnezzar mood. Spinach for
me."

She took some.

"Everything seems a little vague and Channelly to-night, even spinach."

She looked up at Heath, and now he saw a sort of evasive charm in her
eyes.

"You must forgive me if I'm tiresome to-night, and remember that while
you and Madre have been sitting comfortably in Mullion House and
Berkeley Square, I've been roaring across France and rolling on the sea.
I hate to be a slave to my body. Nothing makes one feel so contemptible.
But I haven't attained to the Susan Fleet stage yet. I'll tell you