"Not that it matters," added Fanny, looking away across the moonlit lawn again. "Who cares? Only, it's one of those lies that go against a man," she continued after a short pause. "A man may pretend that he has shot ten million grisly bears in his back yard, or hooked a salmon that weighed a hundred-weight--people will laugh and say that he's a story-teller. It's all right, you know--and nobody minds. But when a man says he's been in the army or the navy, and hasn't--people call him a liar and cut him. I don't know why it's so, I'm sure, but it is--and we all know it." "Yes," answered Cordelia, almost tremulously; "but you haven't proved that Mr. Brinsley isn't telling the truth--" "Oh yes, I have! There never was a deep-sea sailor yet who had never heard of club-hauling a ship to save her. I know about those things. I always make navy officers talk to me about those things whenever I get a chance. Besides, I can prove it to you. Ask the first captain of a fishing-schooner you meet down at the landing what it means. But don't tell me I don't know--it's too absurd." Miss Cordelia looked down. Her hand still rested on Fanny's arm, and it trembled now so that the young girl felt it. "What does it mean, then?" asked Cordelia, faintly. "Oh, it's a long operation to tell about. It's when you've got a lee-shore in a gale, and you want to go about and can't, because you miss stays every time, and you let go an anchor, and the ship swings to it, and just as she begins to get way on, you slip your chain, and she pays off on the other tack. Of course you lose your anchor." "Oh--you lose the anchor? To save the ship? I see." "Exactly." "You lose the anchor to save the ship," repeated Cordelia, softly, as though she were trying to remember the words for future use. "Shall we go back?" she suggested, rather abruptly. "I wish you'd answer me one question first," said Fanny. "Yes. What is it?" "Why are you so awfully anxious to stand up for Mr. Brinsley? You're not in love with him, are you?" Cordelia started very perceptibly, and turned her face away. Then, all at once, she laughed a little hysterically. "In love? At my age?" And she laughed again, and laughed, strange to say, till she cried, clinging all the time to the young girl's strong arm. Fanny did not ask any more questions as they walked slowly back to the house. CHAPTER VII. "Come with me into the village, and help me to do errands," said Fanny on the following morning, just as Lawrence was feeling for his pipe in his pocket after breakfast. "You can smoke till we get there. It wouldn't hurt you to smoke less, anyway."