lieved
her and half disbelieved. If she had cried, if she had made the smallest
effort to work upon his sentiment, he would have disbelieved utterly.
But he was not blind to the fact that she was making a brave fight, even
though a lie was behind it, and with a consciousness of pride that
bewildered him.

She was not humiliating herself. Even when she saw the struggle going on
within him she made no effort to turn the balance in her favor. She had
stated the facts, as she claimed them to be. Now she waited. Her long
lashes glistened a little. But her eyes were clear, and her hair glowed
softly, so softly that he would never forget it, as she stood there with
her back against the door, nor the strange desire that came to him--even
then--to touch it with his hand.

He nipped off the end of his cigar and lighted a match. "It is
Rossland," he said. "You're afraid of Rossland?"

"In a way, yes; in a large way, no. I would laugh at Rossland if it were
not for the other."

The _other_! Why the deuce was she so provokingly ambiguous? And she had
no intention of explaining. She simply waited for him to decide.

"What other?" he demanded.

"I can not tell you. I don't want you to hate me. And you would hate me
if I told you the truth."

"Then you confess you are lying," he suggested brutally.

Even this did not stir her as he had expected it might. It did not anger
her or shame her. But she raised a pale hand and a little handkerchief
to her eyes, and he turned toward the open port, puffing at his cigar,
knowing she was fighting to keep the tears back. And she succeeded.

"No, I am not lying. What I have told you is true. It is because I will
not lie that I have not told you more. And I thank you for the time you
have given me, Mr. Holt. That you have not driven me from your cabin is
a kindness which I appreciate. I have made a mistake, that is all. I
thought--"

"How could I bring about what you ask?" he interrupted.

"I don't know. You are a man. I believed you could plan a way, but I see
now how foolish I have been. It is impossible." Her hand reached slowly
for the knob of the door.

"Yes, you are foolish," he agreed, and his voice was softer. "Don't let
such thoughts overcome you, Miss Standish. Go back to your cabin and get
a night's sleep. Don't let Rossland worry you. If you want me to settle
with that man--"

"Good night, Mr. Holt."

She was opening the door. And as she went out she turned a little and