"What a fit! I simply must go there. D'you like my little room?" Susan looked quietly round, examining the sage-green walls, the water-colors, the books in Florentine bindings, the chairs and sofas covered with chintz, which showed a bold design of purple grapes with green leaves, the cream-colored rough curtains, and Charmian's dachshund, Caroline, who lay awake before the small fire which burned in a grate lined with Morris tiles. "Yes, I like it very much. It looks like your home and as if you were fond of it." "I am, so far as one can be fond of a room." She paused, hesitating, thinking of the little island and her sudden outburst, longing to return at once to the subject which secretly obsessed her, yet fearing to seem childish, too egoistic, perhaps naively indiscreet. Susan looked at her with a friendly gaze. "How are things going with you? Are you happier than you were at Mustapha?" "You mean--about that?" "I'm afraid you have been worrying." "Do I look uglier?" cried Charmian, almost with sharpness. Susan Fleet could not help smiling, but in her smile there was no sarcasm, only a gentle, tolerant humor. "I hardly know. People say my ideas about looks are all crazy. I can't admire many so-called beauties, you see. There's more expression in your face, I think. But I don't know that I should call it happy expression." "I wish I were like you. I wish I could feel indifferent to happiness!" "I don't suppose I am indifferent. Only I don't feel that every small thing of to-day has power over me, any more than I feel that a grain of dust which I can flick from my dress makes me unclean. It's a long journey we are making. And I always think it's a great mistake to fuss on a journey." "I don't know anyone who can give me what you do," said Charmian. "It's a long journey up the Ray," said Susan. "The Ray?" said Charmian, seized with a sense of mystery. "The bridge that leads from the personal which perishes to the immortal which endures." "I can't help loving the personal. I'm not like you. I do love the feeling of definite personality, separated from everything, mine, me. It's no use pretending." "Pretence is always disgusting." "Yes, of course. But still--never mind, I was only going to say something you wouldn't agree with." Susan did not ask what it was, but quietly turned the conversation, and soon succeeded in ridding Charmian of her faint self-consciousness. "I want you to meet--him." At last Charmian had said it, with a slight flush. "I have met him," returned Miss Fleet, in her powerful voice. "What!" cried Charmian, on an almost indignant note. "I met him last night." "How could you? Where? He never goes to anything!" "I went with Adelaide to the Elgar Concert at Queen's Hall. He was there with a musical critic, and happened to be next to us." Charmian looked very vexed and almost injured. "Mrs. Shiffney--and you talked to him?" "Oh, yes. Adelaide introduced us." There was a silence. Then Charmian said: