as though she were the
Sphinx? The dark-blue eyes that met his now and then were the most frank
and friendly in the world, but the naked truth in them irritated him as
though it had been the gleam of a drawn sword. He sat erect, thinking that
if there was anything repulsive to him in a woman, it was physical
indolence, and a strength of any sort greater than his own.

Old Sutphen presently asked him if he too wouldn't give them a song. Now,
Neckart never sang except when alone, as his voice was a very remarkable
baritone, and he had no mind to make a reputation on that sort of capital.
He could not afford to be known as a troubadour. But he sang now, a
passionate love-song, of which, of course, he felt not a word: the air was
full of fervor, with an occasional gay jibing monotone. The words in
themselves meant nothing: the music meant that whatever of love or
earnestness was in the world was a sham. The men nodded over their pipes,
keeping time: Jane held her father's hand quiet in her own, looking
straight before her.

"Thank you, sir. Very lively toon that," said Lantrim when it was ended.

"Kind o' murnful too," ventured his wife.

Jane, with the last note, rose and walked hastily down the beach, where
the fog was heavy. She did not return. Mr. Neckart smiled: he could only
guess the result of his experiment, but he did guess it.

"Miss Swendon did not ask me to sing again," he said to the captain.

"Well, no. The song hurt her somehow. Jane had always an unaccountable
dislike to music," apologetically. "I'm exceedingly fond of it myself:
it's a passion with me. I enjoy anything from an organ to a jewsharp. But
she does not. When she was a baby it seemed to rouse her. She's a very
quiet little body, you see.--Go, Bruno: bring your mistress back."

She came in a few minutes, as they were making ready to meet the train.
She hurried to her father, caught his arm, and when they were seated in
the train still held him close: "Stay with me, father. Mr. Neckart does
not need you. Don't leave me alone again: _I_ need you."

"But, dear child, that is hardly courteous. He is our guest."

"He need not have made himself a guest. He has spoiled our whole holiday.
He has spoiled the whole dear old place for me," her eyes filling with
tears. "I shall never hear the sea again without hearing that song in it."

"It was a very good song, I assure you, Jane. I do wish you had a better
ear. Why, Bruce has a voice of remarkable