babble. She
suspected that Grizel was forcing herself to talk, to ease the strain,
which like a low rumble of thunder had underlain the peace of the last
week. In the midst of her own pain, she felt a pang of regret for her
hostess,--a pang of compunction for her own shortcomings. If only
Bernard would be induced to return home! but as long as fine weather and
good play were his portion, no persuasion would be of any avail. There
was nothing for it but to set her teeth and endure, and--incidentally!--
to make things as little trying as possible for other people. She sent
a smile across the table to cheer Grizel's heart.

"I'm too lazy to be hungry. It seems a waste of time to eat, instead of
peacefully feeding one's mind on the beauty of it all. All the same
these eggs are mighty good. I wonder how often before tea we shall
refer to a painted sail upon a painted ocean."

"Yes, but _try_ not!" Grizel pleaded earnestly. She was relieved to
see Peignton help himself to a second egg, and consume it with relish;
relieved to see Teresa carefully sifting sugar into her lemonade. Such
simple, homely acts seemed to keep at bay the creeping dread. It was so
easy for Grizel to be happy, to banish fear, and plant hope in its
place. She was as quick to pounce upon signs of good, as most people
are upon menaces of evil, and Cassandra's smile was sufficient to send
her spirits racing upwards. She ate and she talked; few people can do
the two things at one time with out neglecting one or the other, but
Grizel came triumphantly through the ordeal, keeping her listeners in a
gentle ripple of laughter, and demanding nothing of them but an
occasional word of response. Then in the middle of a complicated
sentence she stopped, and looked sharply at her friend.

"What's the matter?"

Cassandra rose with a hasty movement, struggled to speak, and pointed to
her throat. "A... bone... Don't!"

The "Don't" was accompanied by a gesture of the arm, as though to thrust
away any offer of help. She walked away a few yards' distance and stood
facing the sea, while her companions looked at one another, sympathetic
but calm.

"A bone! In the salad. The _Wretch_! I'll give her notice to-night.
_Poor_ dear!"

"It's horrid swallowing a bone. I did it once. It was rabbit. Mother
was quite frightened."

Peignton said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the white figure outlined
against the blue, on the shoulders which rose and fe