The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her door: 'Beg y' pardon, miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two, not to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' mottled, an'

disinfectink.

Now, jist before I took my pail into the pa.s.sage I thought it would be pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' ask you what sort of soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller soap, miss----'

There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury that drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost shouting--'Do you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do!--any kind!'

The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in the gla.s.s for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud.

CHAPTER VII

Roses red and roses white Plucked I for my love's delight.

She would none of all my posies,-- Bade me gather her blue roses.

Half the world I wandered through, Seeking where such flowers grew; Half the world unto my quest Answered but with laugh and jest.

It may be beyond the grave She shall find what she would have.

Mine was but an idle quest,-- Roses white and red are best!--Blue Roses THE SEA had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, and the Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the white beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered.

'I don't see the old breakwater,' said Maisie, under her breath.

'Let's be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don't believe they've mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come and look.'

They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook sheltered from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder cannon.

'Now, if Ammoma were only here!' said Maisie.

For a long time both were silent. Then d.i.c.k took Maisie's hand and called her by her name.

She shook her head and looked out to sea.

'Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference?'

'No!' between clenched teeth. 'I'd--I'd tell you if it did; but it doesn't, Oh, d.i.c.k, please be sensible.'

'Don't you think that it ever will?'

'No, I'm sure it won't.'

'Why?'

Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke hurriedly--'I know what you want perfectly well, but I can't give it to you, d.i.c.k. It isn't my fault; indeed, it isn't. If I felt that I could care for any one----But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't understand what the feeling means.'

'Is that true, dear?'

'You've been very good to me, d.i.c.kie; and the only way I can pay you back is by speaking the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself quite enough as it is.'

'What in the world for?'

'Because--because I take everything that you give me and I give you nothing in return. It's mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of it it worries me.'

'Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if I choose to do anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a single thing to reproach yourself with, darling.'

'Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.'

'Then don't talk about it.'

'How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I despise myself sometimes.'

'Great goodness!' said d.i.c.k, nearly jumping to his feet. 'Speak the truth now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I--does this worrying bore you?'

'No. It does not.'

'You'd tell me if it did?'

'I should let you know, I think.'

'Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive a man when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known that?'

Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and d.i.c.k was forced to repeat it.

'There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.'

'Did you listen?'

'At first; and they couldn't understand why I didn't care. And they used to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be proud of the praise, and tell Kami, and--I shall never forget--once Kami laughed at me.'

'You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?'

'I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless--unless they do bad work.

d.i.c.k, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,--of everything of mine that you've seen.'

'"Honest, honest, and honest over!"' quoted d.i.c.k from a catchword of long ago. 'Tell me what Kami always says.'

Maisie hesitated. 'He--he says that there is feeling in them.'

'How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for two years. I know exactly what he says.'

'It isn't a fib.'

'It's worse; it's a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one side,--so,--"Il y a du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti pris."' He rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to do.