He paused, then continued slowly: "I entered Harvard, but Pearl Harbor happened in my sophomore year. I was in the Navy the whole war, the Pacific; fell in love with the Bay Area on my shore leaves, which is why I came here to live afterward. But during the war I had a lot of time to read and try to think where this world was going. To the wolves, I decided--like Machiavelli's world--I suppose that's why I feel so close to him. He was also studying the problem of how the decent man can survive. He spoke the truth as he saw it, because he didn't think that civilization should be encumbered with nice-nellyisms that the barbarians had already discarded. Wherefore he became the original Old Nick, and the very people--us, the free people, whom he could warn--won't listen, because we think he speaks for the enemy!" He braked. "Sorry. I didn't mean to orate at you." "I wish more men had convictions," she said. "Even when I don't agree. Everybody respects everybody else's sensibilities so much these days, there's nothing left to talk about but football scores." "You're very kind," he said. "Ah, here come the appetizers. Pay special attention to the characteristically Dutch delicacy, Russian eggs, but don't ask me how they came by that name." * * * * * Later, after much talk, some of it with enough laughter to tell him she was a merry soul in better days: A ruby spark lay in their glasses of Cherry Heering. "This isn't Dutch either," said Kintyre. "However." "Do you know," she said, "I begin to understand the old idea of a wake. Getting the clan together and having one fine brawling celebration. It's more an act of love, really, than drawing the parlor curtains and talking in hushed voices." "That's the Latin who speaks," he said. "We Protestant races are cursed with the tradition that misery is a virtue." "But you, you Bostonian Scot or whatever you are--I hear a trace of accent--_you_ approve." "I left Boston for the Pacific at the arthritic age of nine." "What was the reason for that?" "My father was a marine architect. He was laid off in, uh, 1930. Being an imaginative man, he spent his savings on a schooner, hired a Mexican crew, and we all lit out for the South Seas. For seven years we lived on that schooner." "Bruce told me you were a sailor." Her eyes were very bright upon him. "But how did you make it pay?" "Miscellaneously. Sometimes we carried cargo and passengers between islands. The passengers were usually Kanakas, and those who didn't have money would pay us in food and hospitality when we got where we were going. Father wasn't after riches anyway. His main enterprise was to gather and prepare marine specimens, for museums and colleges and so on. Toward the end, he was making a name for himself. Well, we never saw much cash money, but we never needed a lot either."