more. She says that will be plenty."

"She's a sensible girl; that ought to do to start on. But let there be
no nonsense about money. Laura's happiness; that's the only thing
worth considering. I used to be afraid that she might bring a duke
home." It was too dark for Fitzgerald to see the twinkle in the eyes
of his future father-in-law. "If worst comes to worst, why, you can be
my private secretary. The job is open at present," dryly. "I've been
watching you; and I'm not afraid of your father's son. Where's it to
be?"

"We haven't talked that over yet."

The admiral drew him down to the space beside him on the parapet and
offered the second greatest gift in his possession: one of his selected
perfectos.

The course of true love does not always run so smoothly. A short
distance up the road Cathewe was grimly fighting for his happiness.

"Hildegarde, forget him. Must he spoil both our lives? Come with me,
be my wife. I will make any and all sacrifices toward your
contentment."

"Have we not threshed this all out before, my friend?" sadly. "Do not
ask me to forget him rather let me ask you to forget me."

"He will never be loyal to any one but himself. He is selfish to the
core. Has he not proved it?" Where were the words he needed for this
last defense? Where his arguments to convince her? He was losing; in
his soul he knew it. If his love for her was strong, hers for this
outcast was no less. "I have never wished the death of any man, but if
he should die . . . !"

She interrupted him, her hands extended as in pleading. Never had he
seen a woman's face so sad, "Arthur, I have more faith in you than in
any other man, and I prize your friendship above all other things. But
who can say _must_ to the heart? Not you, not I! Have I not fought
it? Have I not striven to forget, to trample out this fire? Have you
yourself not tried to banish me from your heart? Have you succeeded?
Do you remember that night in Munich? My voice broke, miserably, and
my public career was ruined. What caused it? A note from him, saying
that he had tired of the role and was leaving. It was not my love he
wanted after all; a slip of paper, which at any time would have been
his for the asking. Arthur, my friend, when you go from me presently
it will be with loathing. That night you went to his room . . . he
lied to you."

"About what?"

"I mean, if I can not be his wife, I can not in honor be any man's.