Nan began to laugh helplessly.

"Penny, you're too funny for words--if you only knew it. But still,
you're beginning to restore my self-respect. If you were mistaken in
him, then perhaps I've not been quite such an incredible fool as I
thought."

"Mistaken?" There was a look of consternation in Penelope's honest brown
eyes. "Mistaken? . . . Nan, what do you mean?"

"It's quite simple." Nan's laughter ceased suddenly. "Maryon Rooke has
_not_ asked me to marry him. I've not refused him. He--he didn't give
me the opportunity." Her voice shook a little. "He's just been in to
say good-bye," she went on, after a pause. "He's going abroad."

"Listen to me, Nan." Penelope spoke very quietly. "There's a mistake
somewhere. I'm absolutely sure Maryon cares for you--and cares pretty
badly, too."

"Oh, yes, he cares. But"--in a studiously light voice that hid the
quivering pain at her heart--"a rising artist has to consider his art.
He can't hamper himself by marriage with an impecunious musician who
isn't able to pull wires and help him on. 'He travels the fastest who
travels alone.' You know it. And Maryon Rooke knows it. I suppose it's
true."

She got up from her chair and came and stood beside Penelope.

"We won't talk of this again, Penny. What one wants is a 'far Moon' and