But Joan cried, laughing shakily, “So you don’t think publicity is cheap, and what’s convinced you is because I’ve allowed it? So I still am a criterion, Hugh? Really?” “But of course.” “That’s nice. I’m _glad_. And Hugh, I gave the money to the home for Crippled Children. That’s what made me consent to the silly business,—that, and the help it might just possibly be to Prescott’s sales.” “Good for you! But I knew it was all right.” “Only see here, Hugh! Have I been too stupid? You aren’t going to tell me that that—that girl whose name you can’t keep off your funny old tongue is the wonderful person we were talking about, when we agreed that you ought to marry some one else, and have children of your own? I’m not going to believe that, even if you say so. It simply couldn’t—” Hugh put out a hand as if to push something strongly away. Joan might have seen suffering in his face now, if she had known when and how to look for it. But his voice was his ally. It did not betray him as he said, “Hardly! Haven’t I told you? It’s Glenn who’s in love with Ariel. Any one can see....” He did not need to go on, for she took it up so eagerly. “No, really! But you’d never let Glenn, would you? Why, your mother would be wild. And you,—you wouldn’t like it yourself, would you, Hugh?” “I don’t see why not. You know how I feel about Ariel. And I believe rather deeply in early marriage. But I doubt whether Glenn realizes wholly how it is with him yet. You mustn’t say anything, Joan. I trust you. Youth is so easily—wounded by too many words.” “Oh, dear! She _should_ have gone to Switzerland with me! It would be too bad, if you’re right! Glenn’s only twenty! And he’s going to be dreadfully clever—fascinating, when he grows up!” A cloud, thin and ragged, was obscuring the sun. Hugh had lost his desert island where life was new and possibilities unlimited. He did not slip back into the dark waves. He knew he would never be tossed drifting there again. He still was free. Life still was new. But the warmth and the joy were gone. “Oh! It’s chilly. Come—” Joan was on her sandaled feet first, making a pretense of pulling him up by his hands. Her peace, so violently threatened in the past minutes, was established again. She would see Doctor Steiner at least once more before she made Hugh utterly happy. But she was—she knew it now—through with being a perfectionist. This chill in the air! The loss of the sun! It all spoke a word to her which she had heard but without realizing before. It said that she was thirty, and that life was running away. “Come, my dear,” she murmured. “Brenda won’t bless me for monopolizing you like this. Just the same, let’s steal away for a walk late this afternoon, do without tea. Shall we? There’s a heavenly walk I know here, partly through the woods and partly along the shore. And we won’t quarrel again. I promise. Do you promise?”