aces, their prominent teeth sharp and
pointed like wolves' fangs. By nature we are thieves, murderers, liars,
cheats."

"You have a fine opinion of your fellow men, I must say," interrupted
Grace, with a mischievous smile at Mrs. Stuart.

"I am stating a cold, scientific fact, and one that is unqualifiedly
endorsed by every self-respecting ethnologist," replied the professor
firmly. "Civilization," he went on, "teaches us that it is wrong to
kill, to steal, to lie, and society has amended Nature's law by
decreeing that the murderer shall be executed, the thief imprisoned, the
liar and cheat ostracized. That, frankly, is the chief reason why the
majority of us behave ourselves. But some men are so constituted that
they are unable to control their brutal instincts, their evil passions.
Morally and mentally, sometimes physically, even, they resemble in
striking fashion their savage prototypes of six thousand years ago. For
instance, take that fireman Armitage--a colossus in physical strength,
obeying only brutal impulses, to all intents and purposes an untutored
barbarian. Civilization, you see, has done nothing for him. He is the
primeval man. To me he is interesting, for he proves the truth of my
atavistic theory."

Grace yawned. The professor was too deep for her. In fact, she found him
rather tiresome, particularly as she could not guess what he was driving
at. Mrs. Stuart, however, was a more attentive, if somewhat puzzled,
listener.

"But what has all this to do with being wrecked on a desert island?" she
demanded.

The professor smiled in a superior kind of way.

"Allow me to come to my point," he said, with a lordly wave of his hand.
"Suppose a ship like the _Atlanta_, for instance, were wrecked, and the
only two persons who survived the disaster--a man and a woman--found
themselves on a desert island, far from the regular track of steamers
and with the remotest chance of any vessel seeing their signal of
distress. Suppose the man was one of the crew, a common sailor, a brute,
say, of the type of that Armitage fellow, and the woman one of the
first-cabin passengers, a beautiful, highly cultured girl, rich,
luxury-loving, fastidious, such, for instance, as Miss Harmon----"

"Please do me the favor to leave me out of your comparisons,"
interrupted Grace coldly. She did not exactly relish the coupling of her
name with that of a disreputable stoker.

"Oh--I only wanted to make my meaning as plain as possible,