"Did you ever hear of Lucy Mokunui?" he asked.

"Lucy Mokunui?" I repeated, haunted by some familiar association. I
shook my head. "It seems to me I've heard the name, but I've
forgotten it."

"Never heard of Lucy Mokunui! The Hawaiian nightingale! I beg your
pardon. Of course you are a malahini, {1} and could not be expected
to know. Well, Lucy Mokunui was the best beloved of Honolulu--of
all Hawaii, for that matter."

"You say WAS," I interrupted.

"And I mean it. She is finished." He shrugged his shoulders
pityingly. "A dozen haoles--I beg your pardon, white men--have lost
their hearts to her at one time or another. And I'm not counting in
the ruck. The dozen I refer to were haoles of position and
prominence."

"She could have married the son of the Chief Justice if she'd wanted
to. You think she's beautiful, eh? But you should hear her sing.
Finest native woman singer in Hawaii Nei. Her throat is pure silver
and melted sunshine. We adored her. She toured America first with
the Royal Hawaiian Band. After that she made two more trips on her
own--concert work."

"Oh!" I cried. "I remember now. I heard her two years ago at the
Boston Symphony. So that is she. I recognize her now."

I was oppressed by a heavy sadness. Life was a futile thing at