him that she did mean it most
seriously.

In vain he protested. "But why? It's so absurd! Why shouldn't I kiss you
when I love you better than anything in the world."

"Chris, please, _please_ don't talk like that. You must trust me and do
what I ask. You must, dear!"

A pathetic earnestness in her tone and a strange look in her eyes made
Christopher forget his privileges, and he made the promise.

"Thank you, dear. Now I must tell you something else," she went on. "I
must explain why I was so disturbed when Kendall Brown read those words
from my diary. I _must_ tell you what they meant."

But a masterful gesture from Herrick stopped her. He did not wish to
know anything about this. He trusted her entirely, he approved of her
entirely, they must never speak of these old sad things again.

Tears of gratitude suddenly filled her eyes.

"Take this, dear, it belonged to my mother," she said fondly and gave
him a circlet of twisted dolphins and he put it on his finger. Then he
gave her a brown seal ring, engraved with old Armenian characters.

"I got it in Constantinople, Pen. It's a talisman. It will bring us
luck."

They talked on, forgetful of the supper party downstairs, until a waiter
came with cocktails and champagne that Roberta had sent up, but Penelope
would have none of these, saying that her love was too great to need
stimulation.

"I must drink to your health, dear," said Herrick, and pouring out the
bubbling liquid, he offered her a glass, but she shook her head.

"No? Not even a sip? All right, sweetheart. I'll pledge you the finest
toast in the world," he lifted his goblet. "My love! My wife!"

As Christopher set down his glass and turned to clasp his beloved in his
arms, he realized that there was a curious change in her face, a subtle,
an almost indistinguishable change--the sweet radiance had gone. It was
the word _wife_ that had stabbed Penelope with unforgettable memories
and brought back her impulse to confess. Once more she tried to tell the
story of that tragic steamboat, but Christopher firmly and
good-naturedly refused to listen. Whatever she had done, her life had
been a hundred times finer and nobler than his. Not that he had any
great burden on his conscience, but--well--With a chivalrous idea of
balancing scores, he mentioned that there had been one or two things
that--er--and his embarrassment grew.

Penelope's eyes caressed him. "I'm so glad, Chris, if there is something
for me