what to do when
those who were adrift floated into Port Mallett. And sometimes he did
more than was strictly required, but never less. Toward sundown she
began to feel blindly for her handkerchief. He happened to possess a
fresh one and put it into her groping hand.

When she was ready to rise she did so, keeping her back toward him and
standing for a while busy with her swollen eyes and disordered hair.

"Before we go we must have tea together again," he said with perfectly
matter-of-fact cordiality.

"Y-yes." The voice was very, very small.

"And in town, too, Sylvia. I had no idea what a companionable girl you
are--how much we have in common. You know silence is the great test of
mutual confidence and understanding. You'll let me see you in town,
won't you?"

"Yes."

"That will be jolly. I suppose now that you and I ought to be thinking
about dressing for dinner."

She assented, moved away a step or two, halted, and, still with her back
turned, held out her hand behind her. He took it, bent and kissed it.

"See you at dinner," he said cheerfully.

And she went out very quietly, his handkerchief pressed against her
eyes.

He came back into the studio, swung nervously toward the couch, turned
and began to pace the floor.

"Oh, Lord," he said; "the rottenness of it all--the utter rottenness."

* * * * *

Dinner that night was not a very gay function; after coffee had been
served, the small group seemed to disintegrate as though by some
prearrangement, Rosalie and Grandcourt finding a place for themselves in
the extreme western shadow of the terrace parapet, Kathleen returning to
the living-room, where she had left her embroidery.

Scott, talking to Sylvia and Duane, continued to cast restless glances
toward the living-room until he could find the proper moment to get
away. And in a few minutes Duane saw him seated, one leg crossed over
the other, a huge volume on "Scientific Conservation of Natural
Resources" open on his knees, seated as close to Kathleen as he could
conveniently edge, perfectly contented, apparently, to be in her
vicinity.

From moment to moment, as her pretty hands performed miracles in tinted
silks, she lifted her eyes and silently inspected the boy who sat
absorbed in his book. Perhaps old memories of a child seated in the
schoolroom made tender the curve of her lips as she turned again to her
embroidery; perhaps a sentiment more recent made grave t