Polly Candage had come to him when he stepped foot on shore, hands outstretched to him, and eyes alight. And when she put her hands in his he knew, in his soul, that this was the greeting he had been waiting for; her words of congratulation were the dearest of all, her smile was the best reward, and for her dear self he had been hungry. But he would not admit to himself that he had come to woo. When the soft dusk had softened the harsh outlines of the little hamlet, and the others were busy with their own affairs and had left Mayo and Polly to themselves, he sat with her on the porch of the widow's cottage, where they spent that first evening after they had been saved from the sea. There had been a long silence between them. “We have had no opportunity--I have not dared yet to tell you my best hopes for the dearest thing of all,” she ventured. “The one up inland. I know. I am glad for you.” “What one up inland?” “That young man--the only young man in all the world.” “Oh yes! I had forgotten.” He stared at her. “Forgotten?” “Why--why--I don't exactly mean forgotten. But I was not thinking about him when I spoke. I mean that now--with your new prospects--you can go to--to--There may come a time when you can speak to Mr. Marston.” “I have spoken to Mr. Marston, quite lately. He has spoken to me,” he said, his face hard. “We shall never speak to each other again, if I can have my way.” He met her astonished gaze. “Polly, I hate to trouble you with my poor affairs of this kind. I can talk of business to Mr. Vose, and of the sea to your father. But there's another matter that I can't mention to anybody--except you will listen. I will tell you where I saw Mr. Marston--and his daughter.” She listened, her lips apart. “So, you see,” he said at the end, “it was worse than a dream; it was a mistake. It couldn't have been real love, for it was not built on the right foundation. I have never had much experience with girls. I have been swashing about at sea 'most all my life. Perhaps I don't know what real love is. But it seems to me it can't amount to much unless it is built up on mutual understanding, willingness to sacrifice for each other.” “I think so,” returned Polly, softly. “I want to see that young man of yours, up inland. I want to tell him that he is mighty lucky because he met you first.” “Why?” “I can't tell you just why. It isn't right for me to do so.” “But a girl likes to hear such things. Please!” “Will you forgive me for saying what I shouldn't say?” “I will forgive you.” “He's lucky, because if I didn't know you were promised and in love, I'd go down at your feet and beg you to marry me. You're the wife for a Yankee sailor, Polly Candage. If only there were two of you in this world, we'd have a double wedding.” He leaped up and started away. “Where are you going?” she asked, and there was almost a wail in her tones. “No, he does not understand girls well,” she told herself, bitterly.