a moment he was as much surprised as if he
had believed himself to be a mere gliding shadow among men. Besides,
he had in him a half-unconscious notion that he was above the level of
island gossip.

"But you said first that it was of Morrison they talked," he remarked to
the girl, sinking on his heels, and no longer much interested. "Strange
that you should have the opportunity to hear any talk at all! I was
rather under the impression that you never saw anybody belonging to the
town except from the platform."

"You forget that I was not living with the other girls," she said.
"After meals they used to go back to the Pavilion, but I had to stay in
the hotel and do my sewing, or what not, in the room where they talked."

"I didn't think of that. By the by, you never told me who they were."

"Why, that horrible red-faced beast," she said, with all the energy of
disgust which the mere thought of the hotel-keeper provoked in her.

"Oh, Schomberg!" Heyst murmured carelessly.

"He talked to the boss--to Zangiacomo, I mean. I had to sit there. That
devil-woman sometimes wouldn't let me go away. I mean Mrs. Zangiacomo."

"I guessed," murmured Heyst. "She liked to torment you in a variety
of ways. But it is really strange that the hotel-keeper should talk of
Morrison to Zangiacomo. As far as I can remember he saw very little of
Morrison professionally. He knew many others much better."

The girl shuddered slightly.

"That was the only name I ever overheard. I would get as far away from
them as I could, to the other end of the room, but when that beast
started shouting I could not help hearing. I wish I had never heard
anything. If I had got up and gone out of the room I don't suppose the
woman would have killed me for it; but she would have rowed me in a
nasty way. She would have threatened me and called me names. That sort,
when they know you are helpless, there's nothing to stop them. I don't
know how it is, but bad people, real bad people that you can see are
bad, they get over me somehow. It's the way they set about downing one.
I am afraid of wickedness."

Heyst watched the changing expressions of her face. He encouraged her,
profoundly sympathetic, a little amused.

"I quite understand. You needn't apologize for your great delicacy in
the perception of inhuman evil. I am a little like you."

"I am not very plucky," she said.

"Well! I don't know myself what I would do, what countenance I would
have before a