e meditative this evening,' she said, in a voice subdued below
its ordinary note.

'Not very fit for society, to tell the truth,' Godwin answered,
carelessly. 'One has such moods, you know. But how would you take it
if, at the last moment, I sent a telegram, "Please excuse me. Don't
feel able to talk"?'

'You don't suppose I should be offended?'

'Certainly you would.'

'Then you know less of me than I thought.'

Her eyes wandered about the room, their smile betokening an uneasy
self-consciousness.

'Christian tells me,' she continued, 'that you are going to take your
holiday in Cornwall.'

'I thought of it. But perhaps I shan't leave town at all. It wouldn't
be worth while, if I go abroad at the end of the year.'

'Abroad?' Marcella glanced at him. 'What scheme is that?'

'Haven't I mentioned it? I want to go to South America and the Pacific
islands. Earwaker has a friend, who has just come back from travel in
the tropics; the talk about it has half decided me to leave England. I
have been saving money for years to that end.'

'You never spoke of it--to me, Marcella replied, turning a bracelet on
her wrist. 'Should you go alone?'

'Of course. I couldn't travel in company. You know how impossible it
would be for me to put up with the moods and idiosyncrasies of other
men.'

There was a quiet arrogance in his tone. The listener still smiled, but
her fingers worked nervously.

'You are not so unsocial as you pretend,' she remarked, without looking
at him.

'Pretend! I make no pretences of any kind,' was his scornful answer.

'You are ungracious this evening.'

'Yes--and can't hide it.'

'Don't try to, I beg. But at least tell me what troubles you.'

'That's impossible,' Peak replied, drily.

'Then friendship goes for nothing,' said Marcella, with a little forced
laugh.

'Yes--in all but a very few human concerns. How often could _you_ tell
_me_ what it is that prevents your taking life cheerfully?'

He glanced at her, and Marcella's eyes fell; a moment after, there was
a suspicion of colour in her cheek.

'What are you reading?' Peak asked abruptly, but in a voice of more
conventional note.

'Still Hafiz.'

'I envy your power of abstraction.'

'Yet I hear that you are deeply concerned about the locomotive powers
of the _diatomaceaoe_?'

Their eyes met, and they laughed--not very mirthfully.

'It preserves me from worse follies,' said Peak. 'After all, there are
ways more or less digni