Chan shook his head. "Impossible in Rear Bay at Boston," he said, "but here at moorly crossroads of Pacific, not so much so. Twenty-five years of my life are consumed in Hawaii, and I have many times been witness when the impossible roused itself and occurred." CHAPTER XVII NIGHT LIFE IN HONOLULU Monday brought no new developments, and John Quincy spent a restless day. Several times he called Chan at the police station, but the detective was always out. Honolulu, according to the evening paper, was agog. This was not, as John Quincy learned to his surprise, a reference to the Winterslip case. An American fleet had just left the harbor of San Pedro bound for Hawaii. This was the annual cruise of the graduating class at Annapolis; the war-ships were overflowing with future captains and admirals. They would linger at the port of Honolulu for several days and a gay round of social events impended--dinners, dances, moonlight swimming parties. John Quincy had not seen Barbara all day; the girl had not appeared at breakfast and had lunched with a friend down the beach. They met at dinner, however, and it seemed to him that she looked more tired and wan than ever. She spoke about the coming of the war-ships. "It's always such a happy time," she said wistfully. "The town simply blooms with handsome boys in uniform. I don't like to have you miss all the parties, John Quincy. You're not seeing Honolulu at its best." "Why--that's all right," John Quincy assured her. She shook her head. "Not with me. You know, we're not such slaves to convention out here. If I should get you a few invitations--what do you think, Cousin Minerva?" "I'm an old woman," said Miss Minerva. "According to the standards of your generation, I suppose it would be quite the thing. But it's not the sort of conduct I can view approvingly. Now, in my day--" "Don't you worry, Barbara," John Quincy broke in. "Parties mean nothing to me. Speaking of old women, I'm an old man myself--thirty my next birthday. Just my pipe and slippers by the fire--or the electric fan--that's all I ask of life now." She smiled and dropped the matter. After dinner, she followed John Quincy to the lanai. "I want you to do something for me," she began. "Anything you say." "Have a talk with Mr. Brade, and tell me what he wants." "Why, I thought that Jennison--" said John Quincy. "No, I didn't ask him to do it," she replied. For a long moment she was silent. "I ought to tell you--I'm not going to marry Mr. Jennison, after all." A shiver of apprehension ran down John Quincy's spine. Good lord--that kiss! Had she misunderstood? And he hadn't meant a thing by it. Just a cousinly salute--at least, that was what it had started out to be. Barbara was a sweet girl, yes, but a relative, a Winterslip, and relatives shouldn't marry, no matter how distant the connection. Then, too, there was Agatha. He was bound to Agatha by all the ties of honor. What had he got himself into, anyhow?