"But it's made up———"
"Not altogether."
"For example?"
"Oh, you know."
"What?"
"You know," said Melville, and would not look at her.
"I decline to know," she said after a little pause.
"Besides—" he said.
"Yes?"
"You told Mrs. Bunting—" It occurred to him that he was telling tales, but that scruple came too late.
"Well?"
"Something about a soul."
She made no immediate answer. He looked up and her eyes were smiling. "Mr. Melville," she said, innocently, "what is a soul?"
"Well," said my cousin readily, and then paused for a space. "A soul," said he, and knocked an imaginary ash from his extinct cigarette.
"A soul," he repeated, and glanced at Parker.
"A soul, you know," he said again, and looked at the Sea Lady with the air of a man who is handling a difficult matter with skilful care.
"Come to think of it," he said, "it's a rather complicated matter to explain———"
"To a being without one?"
"To any one," said my cousin Melville, suddenly admitting his difficulty.
He meditated upon her eyes for a moment.
"Besides," he said, "you know what a soul is perfectly well."
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