“Tell the machinot to fly to paradise,” I cried with a happy laugh. And for the rest of the day suspended indolently above the clouds we dismissed our fears and there was no further talk of politics. CHAPTER XII Fortunately Acquilla had not yet returned from Europa. Before the jealous eyes of Mag, we sought to conceal our happiness, foolishly believing, as lovers will, that they can look on each other without betraying the kindling in their glances. My head was still giddy with the fantasy of this miraculous day with my bewildering Dianne, alone in the clear ether, even the world shut out by the fleecy canopies of the clouds beneath us. But the moment I had gone to my room the sternness of my resolve returned. And a little guilty, like a neophyte who has forgotten his vows, I consecrated myself anew, determined to conquer my passion for Dianne, if it should begin to interfere with the accomplishment of my purpose. When I descended to the bath, Mag was waiting for me with eyes red with weeping. I determined to make sure of her loyalty, so laying my hand on her shoulder, I said gently: “You are my friend, are you not, Mag? And you would never do me any harm?” The poor girl was struck all in a heap. Her glance dropped before mine and bursting into tears she vowed that never, never, would she betray me! I rewarded her with a smile and a pat on the shoulder and descended gratefully into this healing bath of all the senses. There I spent some time turning over in my mind my future activities as a militant suffragist. I had scarcely finished dressing when Acquilla returned. At the first glance I saw all the anxiety which was torturing her imagination. Acquilla was jealous as only a woman can be, to whom love comes late in life. During her going to and fro she must have had time to turn over the sudden appearance of Dianne, and the intuitions of a jealous woman had led her to the correct solution that Dulcina had been used as a blind to screen my true feelings for Dianne. But perceiving the lugubriousness of my expression, she had a momentary flash of hope. Perhaps we had quarreled! “Something is wrong, dear?” she said, holding me off and searching anxiously in my face. “You are right,” I replied sternly, “something is wrong. But something that cannot be dismissed in a word. If you please, we will wait until after dinner.” “You are angry with me?” she exclaimed with such sharp suffering in her voice, that, realizing all the torments of jealousy she must have been suffering during the day, I could not resist a movement of sympathy. I pressed her hand in mine and allowed a smile to soften the severity of my look. “Not with you personally,” I replied, shaking my head. “But much will depend on your attitude.” “You cannot tell me now?” “Wait.”