I—must decide where. Alice has no initiative. I have it—Campaspe's eyes glowed with a ruddy fire—; I own a tiny cottage at Provincetown on Cape Cod. I've never been there myself. I bought it as an investment for an adventure. This, I fancy, is the adventure. Take it. After you are through with it, I'll sell it.
To us?
If you want it, I'll give it to you. I can't use it twice. The bloom will be off.
I love her! Harold cried. If you knew how much I love her, Campaspe!
I'm sure you do, my boy, and in three days you shall see her. Come back to this garden and you will find her here.
He rose, kissed her hand quite spontaneously, although it was the first time in his life he had ever done such a thing, and took his departure. Seized with a new nervousness, Campaspe got up and walked about. Her whole body was glowing and vibrating with joy, and her smile rippled into laughter. The situation was too perfect. Only one more scene was required to end the act and bring down the curtain. That scene, she was now aware, was about to be played, and, consequently, she was in no way astonished when Frederika presently informed her that Zimbule was waiting in the salon. Nor was she unprepared for the black garb, the wholly woebegone appearance of the snake-child, as she slowly emerged from the house and de-
