Carlyle sighed and was silent for a moment looking up at the gathered host of stars blinking like arc-lights in the warm sky. The negroes' song had died away to a plaintive humming and it seemed as if minute by minute the brightness and the great silence were increasing until he could almost hear the midnight toilet of the mermaids as they combed their silver dripping curls under the moon and gossiped to each other of the fine wrecks they lived in on the green opalescent avenues below. "You see," said Carlyle softly, "this is the beauty I want. Beauty has got to be astonishing, astounding--it's got to burst in on you like a dream, like the exquisite eyes of a girl." He turned to her, but she was silent. "You see, don't you, Anita--I mean, Ardita?" Again she made no answer. She had been sound asleep for some time. IV In the dense sun-flooded noon of next day a spot in the sea before them resolved casually into a green-and-gray islet, apparently composed of a great granite cliff at its northern end which slanted south through a mile of vivid coppice and grass to a sandy beach melting lazily into the surf. When Ardita, reading in her favorite seat, came to the last page of The Revolt of the Angels, and slamming the book shut looked up and saw it, she gave a little cry of delight, and called to Carlyle, who was standing moodily by the rail. "Is this it? Is this where you're going?" Carlyle shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "You've got me." He raised his voice and called up to the acting skipper: "Oh, Babe, is this your island?" The mulatto's miniature head appeared from round the corner of the deck-house. "Yas-suh! This yeah's it." Carlyle joined Ardita. "Looks sort of sporting, doesn't it?" "Yes," she agreed; "but it doesn't look big enough to be much of a hiding-place." "You still putting your faith in those wirelesses your uncle was going to have zigzagging round?" "No," said Ardita frankly. "I'm all for you. I'd really like to see you make a get-away." He laughed. "You're our Lady Luck. Guess we'll have to keep you with us as a mascot--for the present anyway." "You couldn't very well ask me to swim back," she said coolly. "If you do I'm going to start writing dime novels founded on that interminable history of your life you gave me last night." He flushed and stiffened slightly. "I'm very sorry I bored you." "Oh, you didn't--until just at the end with some story about how furious you were because you couldn't dance with the ladies you played music for." He rose angrily. "You have got a darn mean little tongue." "Excuse me," she said melting into laughter, "but I'm not used to having men regale me with the story of their life ambitions--especially if they've lived such deathly platonic lives." "Why? What do men usually regale you with?" "Oh, they talk about me," she yawned. "They tell me I'm the spirit of youth and beauty." "What do you tell them?" "Oh, I agree quietly."