"I won't," she promised. "Especially as it must go against all your principles to have to take so much trouble over a woman." He made no answer, and, fearing she had unwittingly wounded him in some way, she hastened to change the conversation. She had instinctively come to know that beneath his brusque exterior he concealed a curious sensitiveness, and, remembering all that Cara had told her of the man's history she regretted her insouciant speech as soon as it was spoken. "Are you going to the dinner-party on board the _Sphinx_?" she asked, grasping hurriedly at the first topic that presented itself. A quick ejaculation escaped him. "I'd clean forgotten all about it," he replied. "No, I didn't intend going. I must send along a refusal, I suppose." "Why?" "Why?" He looked at her rather blankly. The monosyllabic question, uttered so naturally, seemed to take him aback. "Why? Oh"--with a shrug--"these social gatherings don't appeal to me. I prefer my own company." "It's very bad for you," observed Ann. "What is? My own company?" "Yes"--simply. He was silent a moment. Then he asked abruptly: "Will you be there--on the yacht, I mean?" She bent her head, conscious of the sudden flush that came and went quickly in her face. "Yes. Robin and I are going." "In that case"--there was an infinitesimal pause and, although she would not look up, she was sensitively aware of the intentness of his gaze--"in that case, I shall change my mind and go, too." "You'll meet plenty of friends there," replied Ann. "Lady Susan, of course, and the Tempests, and Mrs. Hilyard." "Acquaintances only," he returned shortly. "Well, at least you'll admit that Mrs. Hilyard is an 'auld acquaintance'," she said, laughing. "And she's so pretty! I do love people who are nice to look at, don't you?" "Yes." Just the bare monosyllable, rather grudgingly uttered--nothing more. "Don't you think she's very beautiful?" asked Ann in some astonishment at the lack of enthusiasm in his tones. "Yes. But, after all, that's only the outside of the cup and platter. It's the soul inside the shell that matters." "Well, I should think Cara has a beautiful soul, too," replied Ann loyally. "Probably you know her better than I do," he said indifferently. Then, as though to change the subject: "What book have you been reading?" He picked it up from her lap, where it lay face downward, open at the lyric which had been occupying her thoughts when he joined her. "Oh, verse?" "I felt too lazy to begin a novel," she explained. His eyes travelled down the brief lines of the little song she had been reading, his face hardening as he read. "Charmingly optimistic," he observed ironically, as he closed the book. "I'm afraid, however, that the 'garden of happy hours' is a purely imaginary one for most of us." "Of course it's bound to be--if you don't believe in it. You've got to _have_ dream-flowers first, or naturally they can't materialise."