along in the deepening dusk behind the fat brute, who
was rowing hard against the current, they saw the dripping survivors of
the shipwreck reach the wharf safely five minutes ahead of them, and
scurry off into the darkness of the street.

Maurice, in high spirits, had quite forgiven Eleanor. "I meant to treat
you to ice cream, Skeezics," he said, "but I can't go into the hotel.
Shirt sleeves wouldn't be admitted in the elegant circles of the Mercer
House!"

Instantly a very youthful disappointment readjusted things for Edith;
she forgot that strange consciousness which had made her shrink from his
careless touch; she had no impulse to say "sir"; she was back again at
the point at which the red-cheeked lady had broken in upon their lives.
She said, frowning: "My! I did want some ice cream. I _wish_ you hadn't
given the lady your coat!"

When Maurice got home, he found a repentant Eleanor bathing very red and
swollen eyes.

"How's your head?" he said, as he came, in his shirt sleeves, into her
room; she, turning to kiss him and say it was better, stopped short.

"Maurice! Where's your coat?"

His explanation deepened her repentance; "Oh, Maurice,--if you've caught
cold!"

He laughed and hugged her (at which Bingo, in his basket, barked
violently); and said, "The only thing that bothered me was that I
couldn't treat Edith to ice cream."

Eleanor's face, passionately tender, changed sharply: "Edith is an
extremely impertinent child! Did you hear her, at dinner, talk about
jealousy?"

He looked blank, and said, "What was 'impertinent' in that? Say, Star,
the girl in the boat was--tough; she was painted up to the nines, and of
course it all came out in the wash. And Buster said her 'cheeks came
off'! But she was pretty," Maurice ruminated, beginning to pull off his
boots.

"I don't see how you can call a painted woman 'pretty,'" Eleanor said,
coldly.

Maurice yawned. "She seemed to belong to the fat brute. He was so nasty
to her, I wanted to punch his head."

"Poor girl!" Eleanor said, and her voice softened. "Perhaps I could do
something for her? She ought to make him marry her."

Maurice chuckled. "Oh, Nelly, you _are_ innocent! No, my dear; she'll
paint some more, and then, probably, get to drinking; and meet one or
two more brutes. When she gets quite into the gutter, she'll die. The
sooner the better! I mean, the less harm she'll do."

Eleanor's recoil of pain seemed to him as exquisite as a butterfly