ntercourse with Susan Fleet. She felt as if only Miss Fleet
could help her, though how she did not know. After repeated attempts on
her part a meeting was at last arranged, and one afternoon the
Theosophist made her appearance in Berkeley Square and was shown
upstairs to Charmian's little sitting-room.

Charmian was playing a Polonaise of Chopin's on a cottage piano. She
played fairly well, but not remarkably. She had been trained by a
competent master and had a good deal of execution. But her playing
lacked that grip and definite intention which are the blood and bone of
a performance. Several people thought nevertheless that it was full of
charm.

"Oh, Susan!"--she stopped abruptly on a diminished seventh. "Come and
sit here! May I?"

She kissed the serene face, clasping the white-gloved hands with both of
hers.

"Another from Folkestone?"

"Yes."

"What a fit! I simply must go there. D'you like my little room?"

Susan looked quietly round, examining the sage-green walls, the
water-colors, the books in Florentine bindings, the chairs and sofas
covered with chintz, which showed a bold design of purple grapes with
green leaves, the cream-colored rough curtains, and Charmian's
dachshund, Caroline, who lay awake before the small fire which burned in
a grate lined with Morris tiles.

"Yes, I like it very much. It looks like your home and as if you were
fond of it."

"I am, so far as one can be fond of a room."

She paused, hesitating, thinking of the little island and her sudden
outburst, longing to return at once to the subject which secretly
obsessed her, yet fearing to seem childish, too egoistic, perhaps
naively indiscreet. Susan looked at her with a friendly gaze.

"How are things going with you? Are you happier than you were at
Mustapha?"

"You mean--about that?"

"I'm afraid you have been worrying."

"Do I look uglier?" cried Charmian, almost with sharpness.

Susan Fleet could not help smiling, but in her smile there was no
sarcasm, only a gentle, tolerant humor.

"I hardly know. People say my ideas about looks are all crazy. I can't
admire many so-called beauties, you see. There's more expression in your
face, I think. But I don't know that I should call it happy expression."

"I wish I were like you. I wish I could feel indifferent to happiness!"

"I don't suppose I am indifferent. Only I don't feel that every small
thing of to-day has power over me, any more than I feel that a grain of
du