He had not thought, before this moment, of the necessity that he himself make the translation for the boy. It had to be difficult; he would have given much if the thing could have been managed in some less directly personal way; but for that matter, difficulties lay so thickly about him now that there was no good in so much as giving them a thought. And so--deliberately, with great care to find the nearly precise English equivalent of every obscure phrase--he read the letter through. He dared not look at the boy's face, but could not but become aware of the hands that twitched, clasping and unclasping, in his lap, and of the feet that at times nervously tapped the deck. When the task was done he quietly folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket. The silence grew long and trying. Doane searched and searched his own still confused mind for the right, the clear word; but could not, during these earlier moments, find it. The boy, plainly, was crushed; but behind the clouded eyes and the knit brows an emotional storm was gathering. Doane felt that. It had to come, of course. And it would have to be handled. But the first words were almost calm. “So that”--thus the brooding youth--“so that's how it is!” Doane waited. After a little the boy sprang up. “But in God's name, why didn't you tell me!” he cried. “You've let me come and talk to you! You--This isn't fair! You've made a fool of me! You--” Doane rose too. They stood side by side among the heavily scented blossoms. Doane felt moved to put a kindly hand on the slender shoulder beside him; but a following thought cautioned him that even a touch would be resented at this moment. “I didn't tell you,” he said, “because until I read this paper I didn't know.” “But you must have known! You told--him. Told him you loved her! Probably you've been telling her, too--here under my eyes. Oh, God, what a fool I've been.... If you'd only been square with me!” “This is not fair,” said Doane, still very quiet. “We must talk this out, but not now--not while you are angry.” “Angry! What in heaven's name is the sense of talking it out! It's settled, isn't it?” “I'm not sure.” “That's not so!” The boy seemed to be recovering somewhat now from the first shock of unreason. He turned away to hide the tears in his eyes. “You've admitted to her father, if not to her, that you love her.... Oh, why didn't I see it! Why did I have to be such an awful fool!... She knows it now. And you know as well as I what she'll do. She'll never go against her father's last wish--never. You know that!” “I recognize that she must be seeing it in that light now, but--” “Oh, what's the use of talk. You _know!_ For God's sake, let me alone, can't you!” Doane's brows drew slowly together; but this and a note of something near command in his voice, were the only outward indications of the storm within his breast.