"Isn't it wonderful? It makes you see clearly your--your----"

"Ideal?" suggested Priscilla.

"Yes; the thing you want to be; the thing that seems best to _you_
without the interpretation of others. It stands unclouded and holy; and
nothing else matters."

"And you never forget--never!"

"No. Your eyes may be blinded for a moment, but you do not forget--ever!"

They were out on the gemlike lake now, and Priscilla was sternly
instructing Margaret how to handle an oar.

"It will never go the way you want it to," Margaret protested, making an
ineffectual dab at the water.

"When it does you will know the bliss! Get a little below the surface,
and have faith in yourself."

And that was the day that Priscilla caught a new light on Margaret's
character. They landed at a tiny village across the lake and wandered
about, Margaret talking easily to the people in their own tongue,
Priscilla straining to follow by watching faces and gestures. While they
stood so, discussing the price of some corals, a little child came close
to them and slipped a deliciously dimpled, but very dirty little hand in
Margaret's. At the touch the girl started, turned first crimson and then
pale, and looked down. Suddenly her eyes deepened and glowed.