For several days Bettina had been heavy-hearted. She had not seen Anthony. He had called her up over the telephone, and had made his excuses; there was the little girl with the appendicitis and the old man with the pneumonia—how Bettina hated the repetition. He would come and see her as soon as possible, he promised, but he had not come.
Diana, too, had not been like herself. On the morning after Bettina's visit to Anthony's house she had not appeared until luncheon. She had looked like a ghost, and had been very busy all the afternoon. She had hinted at affairs which would take her to town for a time, and finally she had gone away. Even Mrs. Martens had seemed disturbed and restless. Hence Bettina had welcomed the invitation from Captain Stubbs. Justin's high spirits, his evident delight in her society, his anger at her rebuffs—these things soothed and flattered her. Above all there was the charm of his glorious youth. She found herself swayed to his mood. Might she not for one little fleeting moment dance to the tune that he piped?
Letting herself go, therefore, she was at luncheon bewildering in her beauty. Justin's mocking eyes grew tender as he watched her. Here was no pretty Beggar Maid for masculine condescension, but rather a little goddess to be put on a pedestal and worshiped.
Captain Stubbs and Miss Matthews, unconscious of the forces which were charging the air about them, ate their chowder and took their enjoyment placidly.
"A fish chowder," said the little captain, "never tastes so good in the house as it does out-of-doors, with the cod fresh caught, and with the smell of the sea for sauce."
Bettina passed her bowl for more.
"It is delicious," she said; "everything is—lovely."
"Isn't it?" said Justin. "There never was such a feast—there never was such a day——!"
Yet there had been many such days; there had been many such feasts. But not for them! It was the golden age of their existence. The moment of youth and joy, unmarred by disillusion.