“Ten hours, once. You see I was pretty small and the tide took me out. But it couldn’t drown me. And a lumber boat happened along.” “But if the boat hadn’t happened along?” “Oh, the tide would have brought me back. Dead, maybe, but I think not. I am a floater. Some swimmers are not balanced right for floating. Women hardly ever.” She gave him a friendly smile. “And there is where your home is?” “What the war left of it--two wings of a cochina house and an unbroken view of desolation. But it was home.” “Now you are talking sensibly. Home! That’s always worth talking about. Let’s quit the foolish love business.” “And yet, it is love that makes the home.” “True. But think of a home where the wife was won, a stranger, by a stranger, on the street.” “That is strongly put. I had not thought of it that way.” “Better now than too late.” “The answer is, in my case, that you are not a stranger. Outside of every man’s life there is a woman standing--just outside, her radiance across his path. He is always conscious of her there, but he cannot see her. He finds himself striving because of her; ambitious, because of her. Then one day she steps in and he recognizes her. And because of her he keeps his soul clean and face to the sunrise. Some call her the Ideal. But I know her as the woman God made for me. Now you understand what I meant when I said I had waited for you all my life.” “What a beautiful thought!” “It’s not my fault I met you on the street.” “Perhaps it may not always be, on the street.” “You mean you will let me come to see you some day?” “I am not suggesting that.” “Then, you never will?” “I have not said so.” He relapsed into moody silence. “Listen,” she said, at length, picking up the loose end. “You are not altogether a stranger either.” Again that swift, half mocking, upward smile. “Outside of every girl’s life there is a man standing--just outside, his shadow across her path. She is always conscious of him there; she knows him as the man God made for her, but she cannot see him. Then, one day, he steps in and she recognizes him.” “What a beautiful thought!” he echoed. And then: “Down in Macon, for instance, did you recognize me?” “I am inclined to think I did,” she answered with a faint smile. “Nevertheless, I took you at your word, and asked about you.” “In Macon?” “No, silly.” “What did you learn?” “Oh, you are a talented young draughtsman, and ambitious. Also, you are a dreamer, an impetuous dreamer. You certainly are that. If I were an adventuress as well as--penniless, I might marry you and take chances on your success. I could always quit, you know. But I am not an adventuress and marriage is impossible for us.” “Why impossible?” The sun was gone. “There is a fact--I can’t tell you now. And you were to ask me no questions. But the fact is, now, insurmountable.” “Tell me that fact.”