ctor never left his side until the trip ended.

Nan was in magnificent spirits, her cheeks flushed and her eyes
sparkling with the joy of a child. Stuart watched her with growing
wonder at her eternal youth. She was more beautiful in her stylish
yachting costume than the day she landed in New York, at nineteen.
There was not a line in the smooth surface of her rounded neck and
shoulders.

The night was one of extraordinary springlike air though it was the
fifteenth of December. A gentle breeze was blowing from the south and
the full moon flooded the smooth sea with soft silvery radiance. Nan
insisted that Stuart sit on deck with her. There was no help for it.
Bivens would allow no one except the doctor in his room, and so he
resigned himself to the beauty of the glorious scene. Not a sound broke
the stillness save the soft ripple of the water about the bow of the
swan-like yacht.

Nan sat humming a song, when she suddenly stopped and leaned toward
Stuart.

"Jim!" she said, softly.

He looked up with a start.

"I honestly believe you were asleep!" she laughed with a touch of
petulance.

"No," he protested seriously. "I was just drinking in the joy of this
wonderful night."

"Forgetting that I exist?"

Stuart looked at her intently a moment and said, gravely:

"As if any man who ever knew you, could forget!"

"I don't like your attitude, Jim, and I think we'd better fight it out
here and now in the beginning of this trip."

"And what is my offense?"

"Not offense, but defense."

"Why Nan!"

"It's useless to deny it," she said banteringly. "You hesitated to come
on deck with me in the moonlight this evening. You've kept trotting to
Cal's stateroom, when he only begs to be let alone."

"Honestly----"

"It's no use to shuffle. I'm going to be perfectly frank with you. Your
assumption of such chilling virtue is insulting. I wish an apology and
a promise never to do so again."

"Have I really made you feel this?" he asked, contritely.

"You have, and feel it keenly. Let's come to an understanding. You and
I both live in glass houses set on a very high hill. No matter what may
be the secrets of my heart, I'm not a fool and you can trust my good
sense."

Stuart pressed her hand, and said gently:

"I'm awfully sorry if I've made such an ass of myself that you have
received this impression."

"You repent?"

"In sackcloth and ashes."

"Then I forgive you," she cried, with a laugh, releasing her ha