"He's not like me," she thought "There's a difference somewhere." Being a supreme egotist Ardita frequently thought about herself; never having had her egotism disputed she did it entirely naturally and with no detraction from her unquestioned charm. Though she was nineteen she gave the effect of a high-spirited precocious child, and in the present glow of her youth and beauty all the men and women she had known were but driftwood on the ripples of her temperament. She had met other egotists--in fact she found that selfish people bored her rather less than unselfish people--but as yet there had not been one she had not eventually defeated and brought to her feet. But though she recognized an egotist in the settee, she felt none of that usual shutting of doors in her mind which meant clearing ship for action; on the contrary her instinct told her that this man was somehow completely pregnable and quite defenseless. When Ardita defied convention--and of late it had been her chief amusement--it was from an intense desire to be herself, and she felt that this man, on the contrary, was preoccupied with his own defiance. She was much more interested in him than she was in her own situation, which affected her as the prospect of a matineé might affect a ten-year-old child. She had implicit confidence in her ability to take care of herself under any and all circumstances. The night deepened. A pale new moon smiled misty-eyed upon the sea, and as the shore faded dimly out and dark clouds were blown like leaves along the far horizon a great haze of moonshine suddenly bathed the yacht and spread an avenue of glittering mail in her swift path. From time to time there was the bright flare of a match as one of them lighted a cigarette, but except for the low under-tone of the throbbing engines and the even wash of the waves about the stern the yacht was quiet as a dream boat star-bound through the heavens. Round them bowed the smell of the night sea, bringing with it an infinite languor. Carlyle broke the silence at last. "Lucky girl," he sighed "I've always wanted to be rich--and buy all this beauty." Ardita yawned. "I'd rather be you," she said frankly. "You would--for about a day. But you do seem to possess a lot of nerve for a flapper." "I wish you wouldn't call me that." "Beg your pardon." "As to nerve," she continued slowly, "it's my one redeeming feature. I'm not afraid of anything in heaven or earth." "Hm, I am." "To be afraid," said Ardita, "a person has either to be very great and strong--or else a coward. I'm neither." She paused for a moment, and eagerness crept into her tone. "But I want to talk about you. What on earth have you done--and how did you do it?" "Why?" he demanded cynically. "Going to write a movie, about me?" "Go on," she urged. "Lie to me by the moonlight. Do a fabulous story."