"Yes, but I speak truth. You are not good at it. Flirtation is a crooked business, and you are straight, _mon amie_. But wounded pride is not the only thing that has drawn us here together. Something else is responsible. We are both craving for sympathy. 'A fellow-feeling,' you know! I know all about _you_," he continued quickly, as Daphne's lips parted. "You are by way of being a neglected wife; and since Nina has informed me that she has told you all about _me_, I suppose you regard me as a bit of a derelict too. Well, we have forgathered. What is going to happen next?" Daphne was silent. She certainly did not know what was going to happen next. Her ideas on all subjects were a little jumbled at this moment. Presently Carthew continued-- "We came together," he said gently, "just when each of us required a little companionship and sympathy; and we got it. I think our chance encounter on the highway of life has been a very profitable one. But it has served its turn. Our roads diverge again. We must part company, little comrade." "Why?" Daphne spoke this time in a tremulous whisper. A great wave of loneliness was surging up towards her. "Because," said Carthew's deep voice, "it is the only thing to do. Think what may happen if we travel on together too far. At present we are safe. I love some one else, and so do--and you are angry with some one else, let us say. Supposing, since the girl I love does not love me any more--supposing I ceased to love her? It seems hopeless, incredible, I admit; but it might conceivably happen. And supposing you gave up being angry with--some one else, and became indifferent to him, where might we not find ourselves? Our sheet-anchor--our platonic sheet-anchor--would be gone. And sooner than send you adrift among cross-currents, little Daphne, I prefer to forgo the only friendship in this world that I really value. You are too delicate and too fragrant to be tarnished by common gossip, so I am going away to-morrow. Let us say good-bye now--you beautiful thing!" Daphne looked up at him in amazement. But there was no passion in his face--only an infinite tenderness. To him she was simply a woman--one of the rarest and fairest of her sex, perhaps, but still simply a woman--whom to succour, without expectation or desire of reward, was the merest courtesy on the part of any knight worthy of the name. This was a man! Daphne bowed her head, wondering dimly and scornfully at the insensate folly of Nina Tallentyre. "Shall we go back to the hotel?" asked Carthew at length. There was no reply. Turning to note the cause, he saw something bright and glistening fall upon his companion's hand--then another. With innate loyalty and delicacy he averted his gaze, and surveyed the distant seascape with laborious intentness.