“Oh,” she persisted, “you make me angry. I know what you wish to express; I know that you consider it a sin to take one’s life, even in ‘the high Roman fashion.’ But, frankly, I do not, and I fear--or rather, I fancy--that I never shall. After all, your belief is a pitiless one; for, as I have tried to say, the man has not himself alone to consider, but those to whom his living is a perpetual shame and menace and cruelty insupportable--insupportable! Now, please, let us change the subject finally; and”--here she softly laughed--“forgive me if I have treated your fancied infatuation lightly or indifferently. I want you for a friend--at least, for a friendly acquaintance. I do not want you for a lover.” We both rose. I was not quite content with her nor with myself yet. I felt sure that while she did not wish me for a lover, she was not averse to my playing the devoted cavalier, who should give all, while she should give nothing. I knew that my punishment had already begun. We paced the deck in silence; and once, as we walked far aft, I saw, leaning upon the railing of the intermediate deck, and looking towards us--Boyd Madras; and the words of that letter which he wrote on the No Man’s Sea came to me. At length she said: “You have made no reply to my last remark. Are we to be friends, and not lovers? Or shall you cherish enmity against me? Or, worse still,”--and here she laughed, I thought, a little ironically,--“avoid me, and be as icy as you have been--fervid?” “Mrs. Falchion,” I said, “your enemy I do not wish to be--I could not be if I wished; but, for the rest, you must please let me see what I may think of myself to-morrow. There is much virtue in to-morrow,” I added. “It enables one to get perspective.” “I understand,” she said; and then was silent. We walked the deck slowly for several minutes. Then we were accosted by two ladies of a committee that had the fancy-dress ball in hand. They wished to consult Mrs. Falchion in certain matters of costume and decoration, for which, it had been discovered, she had a peculiar faculty. She turned to me half inquiringly, and I bade her good-night, inwardly determined (how easy it is after having failed to gratify ourselves!) that the touch of her fingers should never again make my heart beat faster.