not?"
"Because I won't!"
"The best of reasons, too."
"You understand us better than any man in London."
She sat reflecting. She was beginning to look quite cheerful.
"It would be rather fun," she resumed, after a minute. "Charmian Mansfield, Max—if he can get away—Paul Lane. It isn't the party I'd thought of, but still—"
"Which of them were you going to take?"
"Never mind."
"I don't. And where did you mean to go?"
"I told him to the Mediterranean."
"But it wasn't!"
"Oh, I don't know! Where can one go? That's another thing. It's always the same old places, unless one has months to spare, and then one gets bored with the people one's asked. Things are so difficult."
"One place is very much like another."
"To you. But I always hope for an adventure round the corner."
"I've been round a lot of corners in my time, but I might almost as well have stuck to the club."
"Of course you might!"
She got up.
"I must think about Charmian," she said, as she went casually out of the room.
Mrs. Shiffney turned the new idea over and over in her restless mind, which was always at work in a desultory but often clever way. She could not help being clever. She had never studied, never applied herself, never consciously tried to master anything, but she was quick-witted, had always lived among brilliant and highly cultivated people, had seen everything, been everywhere, known everyone, looked into all the books that had been talked about, cast at least a glance at all the pictures which had made any stir. And she gathered impressions swiftly, and, moreover, had a natural flair for all that was first-rate, original, or strange. As she was quite independent in mind, and always took her own line, she had become an arbiter, a leader of taste. What she liked soon became liked in London and Paris throughout a large circle. Unfortunately, she was changeable and apt to be governed by personal feeling in matters connected with art. When she cast away an artist she generally cast away his art with him. If it was first-rate she did not condemn it as bad. She contented herself with saying that she was "sick of it." And very soon a great many of her friends, and their friends, were sick of it, too. She was a quicksand because she was a singularly complete egoist. But very few people who met her failed to come under the spell of her careless charm, and many, because she had much impulse, swore that she had a large heart. Only to her husband, and occasionally, in a fit of passion, to someone who she thought had treated her badly, did she show a lachrymose side of her nature. She was noted for her gaiety and joie de vivre and for the energy with which she pursued enjoyment. Her cynicism did not cut deep, her irony was seldom poisoned. She spoke well of people, and was generous with her money. With her time she was less generous. She was not of those who are charitable with their golden hours. "I can't be bothered!" was the motto of her life. And wise people did not bother her.
She had seen that, for a moment, Claude Heath had been tempted by the invitation to the cruise. A sudden light had gleamed in his eyes, and her swift apprehension had gathered something of what was passing in his imagination. But almost immediately the light had vanished and the quick refusal had come. And she knew that it was a refusal which she could not persuade him to cancel unless she called someone to her assistance. His austerity, which attracted her whimsical and unscrupulous nature, fought something else in him and conquered. But the something else, if it could be revived, given new strength, would make a cruise with him, even to all the old places, quite interesting, Mrs. Shiffney thought. And any refusal always made her greedy and obstinate. "I will have it!" was the natural reply of her nature to any "You can't have it!"
She often acted impulsively, hurried by caprices and desires, and that same evening she sent the following note to Charmian:
Grosvenor Square,
Thursday.
Dear Charmian—You've never been on the yacht, though I've always been dying to have you come. I've been glued to London for quite a time, and am getting sick of it. Aren't you? Always the same things and people. I feel I must run away if I can get up a pleasant party to elope with me. Will you be one? I thought of starting some time next month on The Wanderer for a cruise, to the Mediterranean or somewhere. I don't know yet who'll tuck in, but I shall take Susan Fleet to play chaperon to us and the crew and manage things. Max Elliot may come, and I thought of trying to get your friend, Mr. Heath, though I hardly know him. I think he works too hard, and a breeze might do him good. However, it's all in the air. Tell me what you think about it. Love to the beautiful mother.—In tearing haste, Yours,
Adelaide Shiffney.
"Why has she asked me?" said Charmian to herself, laying this note down after reading it twice.
She had always known Mrs. Shiffney, but she had never before been asked to go on a cruise in the yacht. Mrs. Shiffney had always called her Charmian, as she called Mrs. Mansfield Violet. But there had never been even a hint of genuine intimacy between the girl and the married woman, and they seldom met except in society, and then only spoke a few casual and unmeaning words. They had little in common, Charmian supposed, except their mutual knowledge of quantities of people and of a certain social life.
Claude Heath on The Wanderer!
Charmian took the note to her mother.
"Mrs. Shiffney has suddenly taken a fancy to me, Madretta," she said. "Look at this!"
Mrs. Mansfield read the note and gave it back.
"Do you want to go?" she asked, looking at the girl, not without a still curiosity.
Charmian twisted her lips.
"I don't know. You see, it's all very vague. I should like to be sure who's going. I think it's very reckless to take any chances on a yacht."
"Claude Heath isn't going."
Charmian raised her eyebrows.
"But has she asked him?"
"Yes. And he's refused. He told me so on Monday."
"You're quite sure he won't go?"
"He said he wasn't going."
Charmian looked lightly doubtful.
"Shall I go?" she said. "Would you mind if I did?"
"Do you really want to?"
"I don't think I care much either way. Why has she asked me?"
"Adelaide? I daresay she likes you. And you wouldn't be unpleasant on a yacht, would you?"
"That depends, I expect. You'd allow me to go?"
"If I knew who the rest of the party were to be—definitely."
"I won't answer till to-morrow."
Mrs.
