“Well—­I guess it’s only conventional, because, why are twelve months more important than fourteen or any other number?  But it’s the feeling of an anniversary, I suppose.  A year ago to-day he breathed his last—­and he didn’t want to die.  It sort of seems as if to-day ought to be sacred to him, no matter what he was.  And—­maybe I’m a dashed hypocrite and don’t know it, but it doesn’t suit my ideas of you to get the feeling that you set up to-night as festival.  I expect I’m wrong, though, and you ought to be lecturin’ me instead of me you.”

“I don’t want to lecture you, Nick, whether you understand me or not,” said Carmen.  But the dinner and the meaning of the feast were spoilt for her in an instant.  She could have bitten her tongue out because it had spoken the wrong words—­words which jarred on Nick at the very moment when she most wished to charm him.  She knew, with a heavy weight of premonition, that this moonlight talk she had planned would give her nothing worth having now.  To try to make Nick feel her power would do more harm than good, because the night had suddenly become haunted by the spirit of the dead man.  “I’m punished,” she thought, superstitiously.  But she exerted herself to be cheerful, lest Nick should go East disgusted with her.  And that would be the end of all.

IV

A GIRL IN MOURNING

Angela May sat in her chair on the promenade-deck of the Adriatic and felt peacefully conscious that she was resting body and brain.

The ship was not crowded, for it was spring, and the great tide of travel had turned in the opposite direction—­toward Europe.  On either side of her chair were several which were unoccupied, and a soothing silence hovered round her, through which she could listen to the whisper of the sea as the ship glided on to the land of hope.

Loneliness gave a real joy to Angela; for, young as she was, she had lived through an ordeal, and had taken a step which meant high nervous tension leading up to a supreme decision.  She was glad all was over, and well over; desperately glad that her courage had not failed.

“Oh, how thankful I am!” she said again and again, under her breath.  Still, she vaguely envied some of the family parties on the ship, who appeared happy and united.  Not that she wanted them to talk to her.  Witty, lively people could be very nice when you were in the mood for them, but agonizing when you were not; and since it wasn’t permissible to cover human beings up like canaries when you had tired of them, or send them away like children when they had prattled enough, Angela cuddled down among her cushions and rugs, glad to be let alone for the first time in her life.  But there was a young mother with a small imp of a curly-haired girl, who fascinated her, and made her think.  Once, when the imp fell on the deck, to be caught up and kissed until a wail ended in a laugh, Angela said to herself, “If my mother had been like that, everything would have been different for me.”