Do you remember, in the Odyssey, when poor Calypso begs him to remain?

"Thus spoke Calypso to her G.o.d-like guest: 'This shows thee, friend, by old experience taught, And learn'd in all the wiles of human thought, How p.r.o.ne to doubt, how cautious are the wise!

Thus wilt thou leave me? Are we thus to part?

Is Portlaw's Park the pa.s.sion of thy heart?'"

Laughing, he answered in the Grecian verse:

"Whatever the G.o.ds shall destine me to bear, 'Tis mine to master with a constant mind; Inured to peril, to the worst resigned, Still I can suffer; their high will be done."

From the soft oval of her face the smile faded, but her voice was still carelessly gay:

"And so he went away. But, concerning his nymph, Calypso, further Homer sayeth not. Yet--in the immortal verse it chanced to be he, not she, who was--married.... And I think I'll retire now--if you have nothing more agreeable to say to me--"

"I have; in the garden--"

"No, I dare not risk it to-night. The guards are about--"

"It is my last night here--"

"We will see each other very soon in New York. And I'll be up in the morning to drive you to the station--"

"But, Shiela, dear--"

"There was a bad n.i.g.g.e.r hanging around the groves last night and our patrols are out.... No, it's too risky. Besides--"

"Besides--what?"

"I've been thinking."

He said, tenderly impatient:

"You little witch of Ogygia, come into the _patio_ then, and do your thinking and let me make love to you."

But she would not raise her eyes, standing there in the rose lamplight, the perverse smile still edging her lips.

"Calypso," he repeated persuasively.

"No.... Besides, I have nothing to offer you, Ulysses.... You remember what the real Calypso offered the real Ulysses if he'd remain with her in Ogygia?"

"Eternal youth and love?" He bent over the table, moving his hand to cover hers where it rested in the lamplight. "You have given me eternity in love already," he said.

"Have I?" But she would not lift her eyes.... "Then why make love to me if you have it ready-made for you?"

"Will you come?"

And she, quoting the Odyssey again:

"Swear, then, thou mean'st not what my soul forebodes; Swear by the solemn oath that binds the G.o.ds!"

And in turn he quoted:

"Loved and adored, O G.o.ddess as thou art, Forgive the weakness of a human heart."

But she said with gay audacity, "I have nothing to forgive you--yet."

"Are you challenging me? Because I am likely to take you into my arms at any moment if you are."

"Not _here_--Garry!"--looking up in quick concern, for his recklessness at times dismayed her. Considering him doubtfully she made up her mind that she was safe, and her little chin went up in defiance.

"The hammock's in the _patio_," he said.

"There's moonlight there, too. No, thank you--with Cissy wakeful and her windows commanding every nook!... Besides--as I told you, I've been thinking."

"And what have you concluded?"

Delicate straight nose in the air, eyebrows arched in airy disdain, she stood preoccupied with some little inward train of thought that alternately made grave and gay the upcurled corners of her lips.

"About this question of--ah--love-making--" dropping her eyes in pretence of humility.

"It is no longer a question, you know."

She would _not_ look up; her lashes seemed to rest on the bloom of the rounded cheek as though the lids were shut, but there came from the shadows between the lids a faint glimmer; and he thought of that first day when from her lifted gaze a thousand gay little demons seemed to laugh at him.

"I've been thinking," she remarked, "that this question of making love to me should be seriously discussed."

"That's what I've been asking you to do in the _patio_--"

"I've been thinking, with deep but rather tardy concern, that it is not the best policy for me to be--courted--any more."

She glanced up; her entire expression had suddenly altered to a gravity unmistakable.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"Can _you_ tell _me_? I ask you, Garry, what has happened?"

"I don't understand--"

"Nor I.... Because that little fool you kissed--so many, many centuries ago--is not this disillusioned woman who is standing here!... May I be a little bit serious with you?"

"Of course," he said, amused; "come out on the east balcony and tell me what troubles you."

She considered him, smilingly suspicious of his alacrity.

"I don't think we had better go to the balcony." "Shiela, can't you ever get over being ashamed when I make love to you?"

"I don't want to get over it, Garry."

"Are you still afraid to let me love you?"