"Men are selfish—unfeeling. They forget," replied Marcia, bitterly. "You give your life to them and they toss aside your love and devotion as if it were so much rubbish." The outburst, sharp with pain, burst from her involuntarily, awing Sylvia into silence. What did she know of Jason, that dim heritage of her childhood? Of Marcia? Of their life together, she suddenly asked herself. Dismayed, she stole a glance at her companion. It was as if idly treading a flower-strewn path she had without warning come upon the unplumbed depths of a volcano's crater. To cover the awkwardness of the moment, she bent to caress Prince Hal who had risen and stood, alert and listening beside her. Only an instant passed before Marcia spoke again[54]—this time with visible effort to recapture her customary manner. [54] "Suppose we have lobster Newburg this noon," suggested she. "I'll get the chafing-dish. What's the matter, Hal, old man? You look worried. Don't tell me you hear more fish swimming our way?" [55] [55] Chapter V The nose of the setter quivered and, going to the window, he growled. The "He does hear something," asserted Sylvia. "What do you suppose it is?" "Gulls, most likely. They circle above the house in clouds," was Marcia's careless answer. "The Prince regards them as his natural enemies. He delights to chase them up the beach and send them whirling into the air. Apparently he resents their chatter. He seems to think they are talking about him—and they may be for aught I know—talking about all of us." A faint echo of her recent irritation still lingered in the tone and, conscious of it, she laughed to conceal it. Again the dog
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