His nature was so full of her that it could no longer hold any thought of Clarice. And for a little while, as Bellairs dived into Betty's heart, he was astonished at the passion he found there, and congratulated himself on having released her from bondage. Now, at least, he was teaching her to be herself. He was killing the echo and creating a voice, a beautiful, clear, radiant voice that would sing to him, to him alone. "Betty has a great deal in her," he said to Clarice once. "Yes--a great deal. Who put it there, do you think?" "Who? Why, nobody. Surely you would not say that all you yourself have of--of strength, originality, courage, was put into you by some other man or woman." "No. I would not say that. But then--I am not Betty." Bellairs felt irritated. "Please don't run Betty down," he exclaimed hastily. "I! I run down Betty! I don't think you understand what I feel about Betty. She is the one perfect being I know. I worship her." "I am sure you do," he said, mollified. "And you have done much for her, perhaps too much." "I cannot tell that--yet," Clarice answered. "Some day I may know whether I have done very much, or very little." "Some day--when?" "Perhaps very soon." Bellairs wondered what she meant, and wondered, too, why he had a sudden sense of uneasiness. It was a day or two after this conversation that a light cloud seemed to float across his lover's happiness with Betty. He could not tell the exact moment when it came, nor from what quarter it journeyed. But he felt the obscuring of the sun and the lessening of the lovely warmth of intimacy. He was chilled and alarmed, and at night, when he was alone with Betty in the stern of the _Hatasoo_ bidding her good-bye, he could not refrain from saying:-- "Betty, is anything the matter?" "The matter, Jack?" "Yes. Are you quite happy to-day? Quite as happy as you were yesterday?" "I suppose so--I believe so." But she did not speak with a perfect conviction, and Bellairs was more gravely troubled. "I am certain something is wrong," he persisted. "I have done something that has offended you, or said something stupid. What is it? Do tell me." "I can't. There is nothing to tell. Really, there is not." "You would tell me if there was?" "Of course." "And you love me as much as ever?" "Oh, yes." He looked into her eyes, asking them mutely to tell him the truth. And he thought their expression was strangely cold. The light had surely faded out of them. He kissed her silently and went forward. Clarice was standing there looking at the rising moon. "Good-night," he said, holding out his hand. "How grave you look," she answered, not seeing the hand. "The moonlight makes people look unnatural." "It does not reach the deck yet." "Good-night," he said again, and he went down the stairs. She looked after him with a smile. When he had gone, she turned her head and called. "Betty!" "Yes!"