good one, when the yacht was
in harbor, "to make a change." It was full of English and Americans, but
they knew nobody, and, having two sitting-rooms, had no reason to seek
public rooms where acquaintances are made. Charmian wondered how long
Mrs. Shiffney would stay at Bou-Saada.

"Back to-morrow!" she had said airily as she waved her hand. The
assertion meant next week if only she were sufficiently amused.

Charmian had been really stricken on the stormy voyage, and still had a
sensation of oppression in the head, of vagueness, of smallness, and of
general degradation. She felt also terribly depressed, like one under
sentence not of death, but of something very disagreeable. And when
Susan Fleet said to her in a chest voice, "Do you want to do anything
this afternoon?" she answered:

"I'll keep quiet to-day. I'll sit in the garden. But, please, don't
bother about me."

"I'll come and sit in the garden, too," said Miss Fleet in a calm and
business-like manner.

Charmian thought she was going to add, "And bring my work with me." But
she did not.

On the first terrace there were several people in long chairs looking
lazy; women with picture papers, men smoking, old buffers talking about
politics and Arabs. Charmian glanced at them and instinctively went on,
descending toward a quieter part of the prettily and cleverly arranged
garden. The weather was beautiful, warm, but not sultry. Already she was
conscious of a feeling of greater ease.

"Shall we sit here?" she said, pointing to two chairs under some palm
trees by a little table.

"Yes. Why not?" returned Susan Fleet.

They sat down.

"Do you feel better?" asked Susan.

"I shall."

"It must be dreadful being ill at sea. I never am."

"And you have travelled a great deal, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. I often go with Adelaide. Once we went to India."

"Was it there you became a Theosophist?"

"That had something to do with it, I suppose. When we were at Benares
Adelaide thought she would like to live there. The day after she thought
so she found we must go away."

Miss Fleet carefully peeled off her white gloves and leaned back. Her
odd eyes seemed to drop in their sockets, as if they were trying to
tumble out.

"Isn't it--" Charmian began, and stopped abruptly.

"Yes?"

"I don't know what I was going to say."

"Perhaps a great bore not to be one's own mistress?" suggested Miss
Fleet, composedly.

"Something of that sort perhaps."

"Oh,