ilk of human kindness in his veins, not red fighting
blood. That makes a whole lot of difference. Now listen to me:--you love
Harry--"

"No! I DESPISE him! I told him so!" She had risen from her seat and had
moved to the mantel, where she stood looking into the fire, her back
toward him.

"Don't you interrupt me, you blessed girl--just you listen to Uncle
George for a minute. You DO love Harry--you can't help it--nobody can.
If you had seen him this morning you would have thrown your arms around
him in a minute--I came near doing it myself. Of course he's wild,
reckless, and hot-headed like all the Rutters and does no end of foolish
things, but you wouldn't love him if he was different. He's just like
Spitfire--never keeps still a minute--restless, pawing the ground, or
all four feet in the air--then away she goes! You can't reason with
her--you don't wish to; you get impatient when she chafes at the bit
because you are determined she shall keep still, but if you wanted her
to go like the wind and she couldn't, you'd be more dissatisfied than
ever. The pawing and chafing is of no matter; it is her temperament
that counts. So it is with Harry. He wouldn't be the lovable, dashing,
high-spirited young fellow he is if he didn't kick over the traces once
in a while and break everything to pieces--his promises among them. And
it isn't his fault--it's the Spanish and Dutch blood in his veins--the
blood of that old hidalgo and his Dutch ancestor, De Ruyter--that crops
out once in a while. Harry would be a pirate and sweep the Spanish main
if he had lived in those days, instead of being a gentleman who values
nothing in life so much as the woman he loves."

He had been speaking to her back all this time, the girl never moving,
the outlines of her graceful body in silhouette against the blaze.

"Then why doesn't he prove it?" she sighed. She liked old hidalgos and
had no aversion to pirates if they were manly and brave about their
work.

"He does--and he lives up to his standard except in this one failing
for which I am truly sorry. Abominable I grant you--but there are many
things which are worse."

"I can't think of anything worse," she echoed with a deep sigh, walking
slowly toward him and regaining her chair, all her anger gone, only the
pain in her heart left. "I don't want Harry to be like the others, and
he can't live their lives if he's going to be my husband. I want him
to be different,--to be big and fine and str