"I believe I am. It would be rather nice to get out of this weather. But you don't mind it." "How can you know that?" "It's very simple, almost as simple as some of Sherlock Holmes's deductions. You have refused the cruise which I have accepted. I expect you were right. No doubt one might get terribly bored on a yacht, unable to get away from people. I almost wonder that I dared to say 'Yes!'" "Where are you going to sit, Charmian?" said Mrs. Mansfield. "Dearest mother, I'm afraid I must go upstairs. I've got to try on coats and skirts." She turned toward Heath. "The voyage, you know. I wish you could have come!" She held out her thin hand, smiling. She was looking very serene, very sure of herself. "I'm to answer Mrs. Shiffney on Sunday," said Heath abruptly. Something in Charmian's voice and manner had made him feel defiant. "Oh, I thought you had answered! Is Sunday your day for making up your mind?" Before he could reply she went out of the room slowly, smiling. CHAPTER VII On the following Sunday night at ten o'clock Max Elliot gave one of his musical parties. Delia had long since emerged from her rest cure, but was still suffering severely from its after-effects. It had completely broken her down, poor thing. The large quantities of "Marella" which she had imbibed had poisoned the system. The Swedish massage had made her bulky. And the prohibition as to letters had so severely shaken her nerve ganglions that she had been forced to seek the strengthening air of an expensive Swiss altitude, from which she had only just returned by way of Paris, where she had been nearly finished off by the dressmakers. However, being a woman of courage, she was down in peach color, with a pale turquoise-blue waist-belt, to receive her guests and to help to make things cheery. And she devoured condolences with an excellent appetite. "Whatever you do, never touch 'Marella'!" she was saying in her quick, light voice as Mrs. Mansfield and Charmian came into the music-room. "It's poison. It turns everything to I forget what, but something that develops the microbes instead of destroying them. I nearly died of it. Ah, Violet! Don't let Charmian be massaged by a Swede. It will ruin her figure. I've had to starve in Switzerland, or I couldn't have got into any of my new gowns. There's nothing so fatal as a rest cure. It sets every nerve on edge. The terrible monotony, and not knowing whether those one loves are alive or dead, whether the Government's gone out, or if there's a new King, or anything. Quite unnatural! It unfits one to face life and cope with one's friends. But Max would make me. Dear old Max! He's such a faddist. Men are the real faddists. I'll tell you about a marvellous new Arab remedy presently. I heard about it in Paris. We are going to have a lot of music in a minute. Yes, yes!"