He had never read a poem in his life, but his eyes fell now on some of the lines which had been faintly underscored with a pencil:

"What shall I be at fifty,

Should nature keep me alive--

If I find the world so bitter

When I am but twenty-five?"

He read the words through twice with a vague sense of discomfort.

Had Marie underlined them--and if so, why? They did not convey a tremendous deal to Chris, though he had a faintly uncomfortable feeling that they might to a woman.

Marie was not twenty-five either, she was only nineteen! And anyway it was absurd to imagine that she was finding the world bitter when she had just written home to Aunt Madge that she was quite happy.

He had still got the book in his hand when the door opened and Marie came in. She caught her breath when she saw her husband.

"You, Chris!"

"Yes, I thought you were in." He turned round, holding out the book. "Are you reading this?"

"Yes." She tried to take it from him, but he avoided her. "Did you underline that verse?"

He saw the color flicker into her face, but she laughed as she bent over the book and read the words he indicated.

"Did I? Of course not. It's a pretty poem. It's Tennyson's 'Maud,'

you know." Chris knew nothing about Tennyson's "Maud," but he was relieved to hear the natural way in which his wife spoke. He shut the book and threw it down carelessly.

"I came to say that I'm sorry about last night--about forgetting to take you out, I mean. I clean forgot all about it. We'll go to-night, shall we?" There was the smallest hesitation before she answered. She was taking off her hat at the wardrobe so he could not see her face.

"Mr. Dakers has two tickets for a concert," she said at last, "I almost promised him I would go." She waited. "If you don't mind,"

she added.

"Of course, I don't mind. Go by all means. I dare say you'll enjoy it. I shall be all right--I can have a game at billiards with someone. I suppose it's time to dress?"

"Yes, I think so."

"See you downstairs, then?"

"Yes."

Chris went off whistling. He was quite happy again. Somebody else had marked that verse. He ought to have known Marie Celeste would not be so foolish--and they were stupid lines anyway. He could not imagine why anybody ever wanted to read poetry.

CHAPTER VII

"When the links of love are parted, Strength is gone ..."

DIRECTLY Chris had gone Marie opened her door, which he had shut after him, and ran downstairs.

The lounge was almost deserted. Most of the visitors were dressing for dinner, but Feathers was lounging against the open swing door which led into the garden.

His hands were deep thrust into his pockets and he was looking out over the sea with moody eyes.

Marie ran up to him breathlessly. "Mr. Dakers---"

He turned at once. "Yes." He noticed the flushed agitation of her face. "Is anything the matter?" he asked in swift concern.

"Yes! I mean no! Oh, it's nothing much, at any rate, but--but I told Chris you were going to take me to a concert to-night, that you had got two tickets ..." She broke off agitatedly, only to rush on again. "Of course, I know you're not! I only just said it, but--but if he asks you--oh, you wouldn't mind not telling him, would you?"

Feathers looked utterly mystified, but she was too much in earnest for him to smile, so he said quietly:

"There is rather a good show on the pier, so I'm told, I'll get some tickets and we'll go."

She flushed all over her face and her lips quivered.

"I know it's horrid of me, and I can't explain; there isn't any need for you to take me at all, really, but ... but I knew Chris wanted to play billiards---" She broke off, she had said more than she intended.

Feathers laughed. "Chris is a goth! I like music, and I'm sure you do, so we'll snap our fingers at him and go to the concert."

"You don't really want to! You wouldn't have thought of it, if I hadn't said anything," she stammered.

"I've often thought of it," he maintained quietly. "If the truth must be told, I'm very fond of music, so it will be a kindness if you will let me pretend that I'm only going to please you."

There was a little silence, then Marie slipped her hand into his with a long sigh of relief.

"Oh, you are a dear," she said, and fled away before he could answer.

She went up to her own room and hurried with her dressing. She did not want to go to the concert in the very least. It had cost her a great deal to refuse Chris' offer of that moonlit walk, but in her heart she knew that he had only suggested it as reparation for his forgetfulness of last night, and her pride would not allow her to accept.

If he had wished to go with her he would not have forgotten. She knew Chris well enough to know that he never forgot a thing that he wished to remember, and there was a little choking lump of misery in her throat as she hurriedly changed her frock.

Chris was very punctilious about dressing for dinner. It was one of his pet sn.o.bberies, so Feathers declared, for Feathers himself had a fine disregard of appearances and of what people thought.

But to-night even he struggled into a dinner jacket, and half-strangled himself in a high collar in honor of Marie. At dinner Chris chaffed him mercilessly across the s.p.a.ce that divided their tables.

"You'll be putting brilliantine on your hair next," he said. "Not that it would be much use!" he added dryly.

"I think his hair looks very nice," said Marie Celeste. She did not think so, but she was so grateful to him for haying rushed into the breach for her to-night that she looked upon him through rose-tinted gla.s.ses.