ked upon his imagination that he had called with the
deliberate intention of telling her everything. But he could not open
the gates of his heart before a third person, one he intuitively knew
was antagonistic.

Conversation went afield: pictures and music and the polished capitals
of the world; the latest books and plays. The information in regard to
these Elsa supplied him. They discussed also the problems of the day
as frankly as if they had been in an Occidental drawing-room. Martha's
tea was bitter. She liked Arthur, who was always charming, who never
surprised or astonished anybody, or shocked them with unexpected phases
of character; and each time she looked at Warrington, Arthur seemed to
recede. And when the time came for the guest to take his leave, Martha
regretted to find that the major part of her antagonism was gone.

"I wish to thank you, Miss Chetwood, for your kindness to a very lonely
man. It isn't probable that I shall see you again. I sail next
Thursday for Singapore." He reached into a pocket. "I wonder if you
would consider it an impertinence if I offered you this old trinket?"
He held out the mandarin's ring.

"What a beauty!" she exclaimed. "Of course I'll accept it. It is very
kind of you. I am inordinately fond of such things. Thank you. How
easily it slips over my finger!"

"Chinamen have very slender fingers," he explained. "Good-by. Those
characters say 'Good luck and prosperity.'"

No expressed desire of wishing to meet her again; just an ordinary
every-day farewell; and she liked him all the better for his apparent
lack of sentiment.

"Good-by," she said. She winced, for his hand was rough-palmed and
strong.

A little later she saw him pass down the street. He never turned and
looked back.

"And why," asked Martha, "did you not tell the man that we sail on the
same ship?"

"You're a simpleton, Martha." Elsa turned the ring round and round on
her finger. "If I had told him, he would have canceled his sailing and
taken another boat."

VII

CONFIDENCES

That night Martha wrote a letter. During the writing of it she jumped
at every sound: a footstep in the hall, the shutting of a door, a voice
calling in the street. And yet, Martha was guilty of performing only
what she considered to be her bounden duty. It is the prerogative of
fate to tangle or untangle the skein of human lives; but still, there
are those who elect themselves to break the news g