"You are a little too hasty," said Van Duren, deprecatingly. "If I really thought it would interest you----" and then he stopped. "I suppose I ought not to feel interested in such trifles--but I do," said Miriam, with a pout. "After all, it is not so many years since I was a child, and I daresay I have not yet got rid of all my childish tastes. I always did love to read and hear about shipwrecks." "Then you shall hear about mine," said Van Duren, with more heartiness of tone than he had yet used. He was flattered by her evident interest in himself and his fortunes. There could be no possible harm in telling her the story of the shipwreck: it was only that the telling of it would rouse into morbid activity a snake's nest of terrible recollections, that he would fain have let sleep for ever. The cloud that had begun to lower over Miriam's face vanished in a moment. "That is really very nice of you," she said. And then she struck another fusee and held it while he lighted his cigar. Van Duren did not speak till he had swallowed a couple of glasses of hock, one immediately after the other. "As I said before, this shipwreck-story of mine is hardly worth telling. It is true that it seemed serious enough to me at the time, but it is associated with no thrilling adventures or hair-breadth escapes. Altogether, it was a very commonplace affair." "Still, it was a shipwreck, and there never was a shipwreck yet that wasn't worth hearing about. So now begin, please, and remember that you must tell me all the details, and make a nice, long story of it." Poor old Byrne, with his handkerchief thrown over his head, and his hands crossed comfortably over his stomach, was still in the middle of his forty winks, and happily oblivious of all terrestrial troubles. "What I am about to tell you happened many years ago," said Van Duren. "How many?--a dozen? I like people to be precise in their dates." "Oh, more than a dozen. Nearly two dozen." "Shall we put it down, then, that it was about twenty years ago?" "Yes, that is near enough." There was a perceptible shade of annoyance in his tone as he spoke. "Now, if you are going to be petulant, I won't speak to you again all the evening. If you knew more about young ladies, and their whims and ways, you would feel flattered by the interest I am taking in your narrative." "I do feel flattered by your interest," said Van Duren. "But I did not know that you would care for such minute details." "Little things always interest our sex--our lives are made up of petty details. And now, if you will make a fresh start, I will try not to interrupt you again."