The little captain gave him a keen glance. "Well, you won't ever have to
worry," he said; "all you've got to do is to keep at it till you find
the right woman. That's what that Betty child said to me the other day.
'Captain, if a man wants a woman, he's got to keep after her until she
says 'Yes.'"

"Did Betty Dolce say that?"

"Yes--she's a smart little thing."

But Justin's thoughts were not of her "smartness" but of her pathetic
loveliness. All night her sobs had echoed in his heart. When he had
driven his gay party home after their stop at Anthony's, he had ridden
for miles alone in the storm. He had welcomed the beat of the rain in
his face. He had yearned for some adventure which would shut out that
vision of the shadowy room.

But no adventure had been forthcoming, and so he had sought his uneasy
couch, and had tried to sleep, and had risen at the first crow of cocks.

He brought his mind back with difficulty to the captain. "I'm going up
this morning, captain. I'll wigwag to you and Anthony if you're
outside."

"Don't you go," the little captain advised earnestly; "this isn't any
morning to fly. There's all sorts of storms about, and you can't tell
what minute you'll get into one."

"Didn't you like to sail your ship in a storm--didn't you like the
excitement of it--the battle with the wind and waves?"

"That's different. I knew my ship was seaworthy. I knew what I had to
face in an ordinary storm. But you take one of those Chinese typhoons,
or a hurricane that blew up from the Gulf, and I didn't enjoy it. Not a
bit. I'd go miles to get out of one, and I learned this, after I had
looked death in the face a hundred times, that foolhardiness doesn't
pay. You go slow, and wait for a quiet day."

Justin laughed recklessly. "I'll take my chances."

"Well, there's no fool like a young fool." The little captain started
his motor with a jerk, and its comfortable chugging was at once changed
to an angry snort.

Justin did not at once go back to the sheds. He climbed a path which led
to the adjoining hotel, and made his way to the writing rooms.

The people who lounged on the porches looked at him curiously as he
passed. Those who had been there longest whispered to the newcomers the
magic of his name. More than one girl remarked the beauty of the somber
young countenance, and the strength of the straight young figure.

In the writing room of the big hotel Justin wrote to Diana. It was his
last hope. He wr