all
about her some day, Mr. Heath, but not now. You would like her. I know
that. But perhaps you'll refuse to meet her. Do you know my secret name
for you? I call you--the Great Refuser."

Heath flushed and glanced at Mrs. Mansfield.

"I have my work, you see."

"We heard such strange music in Algiers," she answered. "I suppose it
was ugly. But it suggested all sorts of things to me. Adelaide wished
Monsieur Rades was with us. He's clever, but he could never do a big
thing. Could he, mother?"

"No, but he does little things beautifully."

"What it must be to be able to do a big thing!" said Charmian. "To draw
in color and light and perfume and sound, and to know you will be able
to weave them together, and transform them, and give them out again with
you in them, making them more strange, more wonderful. We saw an island,
Susan Fleet and I, that--well, if I had had genius I could have done
something exquisite the day I saw it. It seemed to say to me: 'Tell
them! Tell them! Make them feel me! Make them know me! All those who are
far away, who will never see me, but who would love me as you do, if
they knew me.' And--it was very absurd, I know!--but I felt as if it
were disappointed with me because I had no power to obey it. Madre,
don't you think that must be the greatest joy and privilege of genius,
that capacity for getting into close relations with strange and
beautiful things? I couldn't obey the little island, and I felt almost
as if I had done it a wrong."

"Where was it? In the sea?"

"No--oh, no! But I can't tell you! It has to be seen--"

Suddenly there came upon her again, almost like a cloud enveloping her,
the strong impression that destiny would lead her some day to that
Garden of the Island with Heath. She did not look at him. She feared if
she did he would know what was in her mind and heart. Making an effort,
she recovered her self-command, and said:

"I expect you think I'm a rather silly and rhapsodizing girl, Mr. Heath.
Do you mind if I tell you what _I_ think?"

"No, tell me please!" he said quickly.

"Well, I think that, if you've got a great talent, perhaps genius, you
ought to give it food. And I think _you_ don't want to give it food."

"Swinburne's food was Putney!" said Mrs. Mansfield, "and I could mention
many great men who scarcely moved from their own firesides and yet whose
imagination was nearly always in a blaze."

Heath joined in eagerly, and the discussion lasted till th