When they met again, away from the others, after an excellent luncheon of fowl and vegetables prepared by the surprising Miss Carmichael, his mood was wholly changed. He had charm; consciously or unconsciously, he made it felt. “I wasn't fair to you,” he began. “If you don' min',” said she, “we jus' won' talk abou' that.” “Can't help it.” He smiled a little. “There's no use pretending I can think about another thing. I'm madly in love with you--hopelessly gone. It'll probably simplify things if you'll just accept that as a fact. But last night--this morning--whenever it was!--after all we'd been through--you know, it wasn't so unnatural that I got all fired up that way.” As this half-smiling, half-serious youth was plainly going to be even more difficult to manage than the ardent boy of the glowing dawn, she was silent. “Here's the thing,” he went on. “I was too worn out myself to be considerate of you. I meant every word, of course. You'll never know how wonderful you seem to me.” This rather wistfully. They were leaning on the rail, gazing at the rocky hills along the southern bank. “It's all wrong for me to be so impatient. I know I've got to make good. I've got to earn you. That won't come all at once. But I am going to try not to get stirred up like that again. God knows you've got enough to bother you.” “I'm ver' uncertain abou' my father,” said she. “How do you mean?” “Oh--he stays in his room. He doesn' come out with us. An' he's always working.” “Well--does that mean anything? Wouldn't he naturally be busy?” “I don' think so. No, like this.” “But I don't understand what--” “It isn' easy to say. When a man like father--what you call a mandarin--feels that he mus'”--her voice wavered--“that he mus' go, there is a grea' deal that he must wri' to his frien's an' to the governmen'. He doesn' wan' to be disturb'. I can' tell wha' he's doing. It worries me.” Doane, during the sunny dreamy afternoon, heard them, now and again. They were quite monopolizing the pleasant after gallery. And they were drifting on into their love story. He could not restrain himself from watching and listening. Despite the fact that his own dream was over, Doane felt about it, in his heart, like a boy. The sight of her quickened his pulse. Thoughts of her--mental pictures--came irresistibly. And these, at times, puzzled his heart if never his reason; the moment on the top deck of the steamer, when she climbed the after ladder and first confided her tragic difficulty; the dance she “sat out” with him. .... He called himself, often enough, a fool. But his spirit refused to accept the words that formed in his mind. He was simply at war with himself.... The sort of thing happened often enough in life, of course. Every man lived through such periods. Men of middle age in particular.... Thus he fell back, over and again, on reason. It was all he could do. Plainly the experience would take a lot of living through.