ir moorings
as the tide turned. Far to the southeast Minot's light blinked its
one-four-three--"I-warn-you"--message to the ships. Diana had
once said of it, "The sweethearts off the coast translate it
differently--'I-love-you.' That's what Anthony told me."

How she had always quoted him! Even when for a brief time she had
drifted toward that other, she had clung to her belief in Anthony's
faith and goodness--and when she had shaken herself free she had flown
back to him.

And now--in the dim room below Diana was coming at last into her own!

The little lady crept into bed, shivering--perhaps with the chill of
the spring night, perhaps with the thought of the happiness from which
she was left out.

Presently she heard again the beat of the motor. Beginning in front of
the house, it grew fainter in the distance; then silence, and at last a
soft step on the stairs.

"Sophie," there was that in Diana's voice which made her sit up and
listen, "Sophie, are you asleep?"

Mrs. Martens lighted the bedside candle with shaking hands. Diana came
forward into the circle of light. Diana--with all of youth gone from
her. Diana stripped of joy. Diana with the shimmering blue gown seeming
to mock the tragedy in her face.

She came up to the bed and stood looking down at her friend.

"Listen, Sophie," she said, brokenly, "see what I've done. Anthony is
engaged, Sophie. Engaged to another girl!"

* * * * *

Peter, in his basket, slept soundly all night. But Sophie slept not at
all. And early in the morning she went down to her friend.

Diana had taken the room which had been her mother's. She had kept the
carved canopy bed and other massive pieces, but she had changed the
hangings and the wall covering from mauve to rose-color.

"You see, Sophie," she had explained one day in Berlin, "there comes a
time in the life of every woman when she needs rose-color to counteract
the gray of her existence. If you put blue with gray you get gray. But
if you put pink with gray you get rose-color. Perhaps you didn't know
that before, Sophie, but now you do. And you'll know also that when I
dare wear a blue gown I am feeling positively infantile."

Diana, in neglige, had always made Mrs. Martens think of a rose in
bloom. She had a fashion of swathing her head, cap-fashion, in wide pink
ribbon, and her crepe kimonos always reflected the same enchanting hue.

But this morning it was a white rose which lay