ost doleful noise he ever heard, except
a fog-horn on a lee shore. I'm glad if you think it's a proof of
happiness: I'm much obliged for the compliment."

"Well, you are happy, or you are trying to appear so. If you are
pretending for my benefit, don't. I'M not happy."

"I know, Hosy; I know. Well, perhaps you--"

She didn't finish the sentence.

"Perhaps what?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'. How many shirts did you bring with you? is this
all?"

She sang no more, probably because she saw that the "fog-horn" annoyed
me, but her manner was just as strange and her nervous energy as
pronounced. I began to doubt if my surmise, that her excitement and
exaltation were due to the anticipation of an early return to Bayport,
was a correct one. I began to thing there must be some other course and
to speculate concerning it. And I, too, grew a bit excited.

"Hephzy," I said, suddenly, "where did you go when you went out this
morning? What sort of 'errands' were those of yours?"

She was folding my ties, her back toward me, and she answered without
turning.

"Oh, I had some odds and ends of things to do," she said. "This plaid
necktie of yours is gettin' pretty shabby, Hosy. I guess you can't
wear it again. There! I mustn't stop to talk. I've got my own things to
pack."

She hurried to her own room and I asked no more questions just then.
But I was more suspicious than ever. I remembered a question of hers
the previous evening and I believed.... But, if she had gone to the
Continental and seen Herbert Bayliss, what could he have told her to
make her happy?

We took the train for Calais and crossed the Channel to Dover. This time
the eccentric strip of water was as calm as a pond at sunset. No jumpy,
white-capped billows, no flying spray, no seasick passengers. Tarpaulins
were a drag on the market.

"I wouldn't believe," declared Hephzy, "that this lookin'-glass was
the same as that churned-up tub of suds we slopped through before. It
doesn't trickle down one's neck now, does it, Hosy. A 'nahsty' cross-in'
comin' and a smooth one comin' back. I wonder if that's a sign."

"Oh, don't talk about signs, Hephzy," I pleaded, wearily. "You'll begin
to dream again, I suppose, pretty soon."

"No, I won't. I think you and I have stopped dreamin', Hosy. Maybe we're
just wakin' up, same as I told you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Mean? Oh, I guess I didn't mean anything. Good-by, old France! You're a
lovely country and a livel