sat apart,
leaning against the deck railing, and gazing dreamily over the shining
water. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to think of some way to answer
Pink, which would hurt him as little as possible. She knew just how he
would stride into the post-office and unlock the drawer that held her
letter, and how his face would brighten when he saw it. He always did
show so plainly everything he felt. And then the grim hurt look would
come into his eyes, and she knew just how his mouth would straighten
into a grim line when he read it. Oh, for his sake she wished that she
didn't have to tell him that what he wanted with all his good, big,
generous heart could never be.

Was it the band playing _Kathleen Mavourneen_, or was it something else
that suddenly made her think of Phil and her parting promise to him at
Bauer. Some one _had_ come asking her to join his trail, just as Phil
had prophesied, but she needn't keep her promise in this case, because
there was only one answer possible. She would stick to her own trail and
go on her way alone. But--there was a queer little thrill of comfort in
the thought--somehow it was nice to know that somebody wanted you, and
that you didn't _have_ to be an old maid. She would keep that letter
always, her first and, probably, her last proposal.

Again the band was repeating that refrain of _Kathleen Mavourneen_, and
the notes rang out tremulously sweet over the water:

"Oh, why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?"

She recalled the scrap of music Phil had torn out and sent to her with
that question on it, and that suggested the other song, _Bonnie Eloise_,
whose name he had given to the girl with the greyhound. She wondered if
Phil ever wrote to her now. Maybe at this very moment he was sitting in
his bachelor quarters down in Mexico, looking out at the moonlight and
dreaming about Eloise. She hoped not, for somehow, without cause or
reason, she had conceived a strong dislike for her.

Some friends of Mrs. Blythe's came hunting Mary just then, to carry her
off to the hurricane deck, where something of especial interest was
going on. There was no more time for serious meditation, and the
combination of youth and mirth and moonlight worked its magical charm.
By the time the boat had made its return trip, Mary was restored to her
usual normal self, and to the equanimity that the heat and the slums and
Pink's letter had upset. When the lights of the town streamed out across