whenever we landed, these two were sure in the end to be just a
little apart from the rest of us.

It was an eminently successful cruise. We all liked each other; the
sea was calm, the sunshine constant, the wind as a rule favourable,
and I think I never in a single fortnight heard so many good
stories, or had such a good time. We seemed to get right out of the
world and its narrow restrictions, away from all that was hollow and
base and depressing, only landing now and then at quaint little
quiet places for some merry excursion on shore. Freda was in the
highest spirits; and as to Derrick, he was a different creature.
She seemed to have the power of drawing him out in a marvellous
degree, and she took the greatest interest in his work--a sure way
to every author's heart.

But it was not till one day, when we landed at Tresco, that I felt
certain she genuinely loved him--there in one glance the truth
flashed upon me. I was walking with one of the gardeners down one
of the long shady paths of that lovely little island, with its
curiously foreign look, when we suddenly came face to face with
Derrick and Freda. They were talking earnestly, and I could see her
great grey eyes as they were lifted to his--perhaps they were more
expressive than she knew--I cannot say. They both started a little
as we confronted them, and the colour deepened in Freda's face. The
gardener, with what photographers usually ask for--'just the faint
beginning of a smile,'--turned and gathered a bit of white heather
growing near.

"They say it brings good luck, miss," he remarked, handing it to
Freda.