Mrs. Brinkley continued to talk, but the god spoke no more from behind the newspaper; and afterward Mrs. Brinkley lay a long time awake; hardening her heart.  But she was haunted to the verge of her dreams by that girl’s sick look, by her languid walk, and by the effect which she had seen her own words take upon Mrs. Pasmer—­an effect so admirably disowned, so perfectly obvious.  Before she could get to sleep she was obliged to make a compromise with her heart, in pursuance of which, when she found Mrs. Pasmer at breakfast alone in the morning, she went up to her, and said, holding her hand a moment, “I hope your daughter slept well last night.”

“No,” said Mrs. Pasmer, slipping her hand away, “I can’t say that she did.”  There was probably no resentment expressed in the way she withdrew her hand, but the other thought there was.

“I wish I could do something for her,” she cried.

“Oh, thank you,” said Mrs. Pasmer.  “It’s very good of you.”  And Mrs. Brinkley fancied she smiled rather bitterly.

Mrs. Brinkley went out upon the seaward verandah of the hotel with this bitterness of Mrs. Pasmer’s smile in her thoughts; and it disposed her to feel more keenly the quality of Miss Pasmer’s smile.  She found the girl standing there at a remote point of that long stretch of planking, and looking out over the water; she held with both hands across her breast the soft chuddah shawl which the wind caught and fluttered away from her waist.  She was alone, said as Mrs. Brinkley’s compunctions goaded her nearer, she fancied that the saw Alice master a primary dislike in her face, and put on a look of pathetic propitiation.  She did not come forward to meet Mrs. Brinkley, who liked better her waiting to be approached; but she smiled gratefully when Mrs. Brinkley put out her hand, and she took it with a very cold one.

“You must find it chilly here,” said the elder woman.

“I had better be out in the air all I could, the doctor said,” answered Alice.

“Well, then, come with me round the corner; there’s a sort of recess there, and you won’t be blown to pierces,” said Mrs. Brinkley, with authority.  They sat down together in the recess, and she added:  “I used to sit here with Miss Van Hook; she could hear better in the noise the waves made.  I hope it isn’t too much for you.”

“Oh no,” said Alice.  “Mamma said you told her they were here.”  Mrs. Brinkley reassured herself from this; Miss Van Hook’s name had rather slipped out; but of course Mrs. Pasmer had not repeated what she had said about Dan in this connection.  “I wish I could have seen Julia,” Alice went on.  “It would have been quite like Campobello again.”

“Oh, quite,” said Mrs. Brinkley, with a short breath, and not knowing whither this tended.  Alice did not leave her in doubt.

“I should like to have seen her, and begged her for the way I treated her the last part of the time there.  I feel as if I could make my whole life a reparation,” she added passionately.