de's _Singleheart and
Doubleface_?"

"Yes. But what bearing has it upon our discussion?"

"None that you would understand," evasively. His tongue had nearly
tripped him.

"Are you sure?"

"Of this, that I shall never understand women."

"Do not try to," she advised. "All those men who knew most about women
were the unhappiest."

They made a round in silence. Passengers were beginning to get into
their deck-chairs; and Elsa noted the backs of the many novels that
ranged from the pure chill altitudes of classic and demi-classics down
to the latest popular yarn. Many an eye peered over the tops of the
books; and envy and admiration and curiosity brought their shafts to
bear upon her. It was something to create these variant expressions of
interest. She was oblivious.

"We stop at Penang?" she asked.

"Five or six hours, long enough to see the town."

"We went directly from Singapore to Colombo, so we missed the town
coming out. I should like to see that cocoanut plantation of yours."

"It is too far inland. Besides, I am a _persona non grata_ there."
As, indeed, he was. His heart burned with shame and rage at the
recollection of the last day there. Three or four times, during the
decade, the misfortune of being found out had fallen to his lot, and
always when he was employed at something worth while.

Elsa discreetly veered into another channel. "You will go back to
Italy, I suppose. How cheaply and delightfully one may live there,
when one knows something of the people! I had the Villa Julia one
spring. You know it; Sorrento. Is there anything more stunning than
oranges in the rain?" irrelevantly.

"Yes, I shall go to Italy once more. But first I am going home." He
was not aware of the grimness that entered his voice as he made this
statement.

"I am glad," she said. "After all, that is the one place."

"If you are happy enough to find a welcome."

"And you will see your mother again?"

He winced. "Yes. Do you know, it does not seem possible that I met
you but two short weeks ago? I have never given much thought to this
so-called reincarnation; but somewhere in the past ages I knew you;
only . . ."

"Only what?"

"Only, you weren't going home to marry the other fellow."

She stopped at the rail. "Who knows?" she replied ruminatingly.
"Perhaps I am not going to marry him."

"Don't you love him? . . . I beg your pardon, Miss Chetwood!"

"You're excused."

"I still need