.
We didn't dare! The girls, you know." He dropped his head, as if
ashamed.

"How is Peggy?"

Anthony frowned, hesitated. "Peter, she--she thinks you're a quitter!
She thinks you ran away at the big moment!"

Peter grinned. "That can be cleared up. Did you enjoy--the game? Did
you succeed? That's all I'm worrying about."

Anthony looked at him suspiciously. "That was not a put-up job.
Why--I shot a man!" He became anxious. "Will there be a row?"

"Not a bit--if you keep your mouth shut."

"Oh, I'll do that! But that dead Chink! Ugh!"

"Forget him," advised Peter cheerfully. "I still don't know what Peggy
had to say."

"What do you mean?" Anthony gave him a blank stare.

"Does she think----"

A light of understanding came into Anthony's clear gray eyes. "Oh, I
made a little mistake," he confessed weakly. "It--it isn't Peggy; it's
Helen! We're engaged! You see, Helen is such a--a quiet and reserved
sort of girl. Just my kind! Peggy--well, you know, I decided she was
a little too--too wild!"

A long, low gray launch was chugging alongside when Peter made his way
back to the promenade-deck. At the upper extremity of the
companion-ladder which reached down to the river's surface was standing
a slim and youthful figure in blue, with wisps of golden hair flying
about in the soft spring breeze.

She leaned anxiously and expectantly over the rail as a tall and
commanding young man in the white uniform of his majesty's naval
service climbed up eagerly toward her. The young officer leaped
gracefully over the rail, seized both hands of the girl, and his eyes
were shining.

Peter's deep-blue eyes unaccountably took on an expression of moist
sadness; yet he was grinning.

He climbed up to the boat-deck, unlocked the wireless room, and for the
first time recalled the mail in his hip-pocket. Leisurely he scanned
the post-cards first, highly colored ones, which had been forwarded
from the San Francisco Marconi office, emanating from friends scattered
in many parts of the world. One was from Alaska; another from
Calcutta, India, from that splendid fellow, Captain Bobbie MacLaurin.

He opened the letter, and his eyes fell upon familiar handwriting. He
suddenly felt shocked; the sentences began swimming. The letter was
from Eileen, dated Nanking. Words stood out whimsically, like thoughts
assailing a tired brain, clamoring for recognition.

... You are the stubbornest man! ... Do you imag