There might--er--be some man who met you
for the first time after he'd heard of your engagement, and who for his
own peace of mind didn't dare let himself admire your brilliant talents
as much as he would like to."

Now, I had got as far as I intended to go. Some dim idea of rescuing the
Viking from the girl he doesn't love, to give him to the girl he does
(and I do), had been floating in my mind ever since that stormy night at
Enkhuisen. I had thought that Freule Menela was the sort of girl who
might drop the meat for the sake of the shadow; but having indicated the
presence of a floating, ghostly shadow--which might belong to any one or
no one--I had no idea of advancing further, even to bestow happiness on
Phyllis.

I had argued with my conscience, "If she's a woman who's ready to throw
over the man she's engaged to, just because he isn't very rich or
particularly eligible in her eyes, and because some other vague person
looming on the horizon has more money than Number One, why, it's a sure
sign that she accepted Number One because she couldn't get any one else,
therefore she doesn't deserve to keep him, and she does deserve not only
to see him slip away, but to see the shadow go with him."

However, I had not taken Freule Menela's talents into due account--or my
own failings.

"Is there such a man?" she asked.

"There might be," I cautiously repeated. "The question is, are you
engaged to Mr. van Buren, or are you not?"

"There has been an understanding between his family and mine, for many
years, that some day we should marry," she answered. "And, of course,
he's very fond of me, though you might not think it from his manner. He
often appears to feel more interest in women for whom he cares nothing,
than in me, to whom he is devoted. That is a characteristic of men who
have his reserved nature."

"I'm afraid I don't understand reserved natures," said I. "If I care for
any one, I can't help showing it."

"I have often thought," went on Freule Menela, "of telling Robert van
Buren that he and I are not suited to each other. My ideal man is very
different. And besides, as I said, _nothing_ could induce me to settle
down in Rotterdam."

"You might make that the determining point," I suggested, "if you were
looking for an excuse to save his feelings."

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

"I certainly do. Then you could leave him the choice. Rotterdam, without
you; the more lively place, with you. Oh! don'