"No," he said, softly; "the man who, receiving encouragement, becomes deeply in love with you, fair Helen, is no idiot, but very appreciative, for you are a beautiful girl and very fond of admiration." He did not move, but still watched the girl, who began to stand out clearly against the lamp-light now, more attractive than he had ever seen her. "Yes," he said; "you may flirt and coquet to your heart's content, but it will have no effect upon me, my child. I don't think I am a conceited man, but I know I am strong, and have a will. Let me see, I have known you since I went down, at Bolter's request, to be his best man at the wedding, and I had you, my fair bridesmaid, under my charge, with the result that you tried to drag me at your car. Well, I am caught, but take care, my child, prisoners are dangerous sometimes, and rise and take the captor captive." "Yes," he continued, "some day I may hold you struggling against my prisoning hands--hands that grasp you tenderly, so that your soft plumage may not be ruffled, for it is too beautiful to spoil." Just then there was a sally made by a French officer of the vessel, and Helen's silvery laugh rang out. "Yes, your laugh is sweet and thrilling," he continued softly. "No doubt it was a brilliant compliment our French friend paid. I don't think I am vain, if I say to myself even that laugh was uttered to pique me. It is an arrow that has failed, for I am in a prophetic mood. I have seen the maidens of every land almost beneath the sun, and allowing for savagery, I find them very much the same when they turn coquettes. You could not understand my meaning this evening, eh? Well, we shall see. Go on, coquette, and laugh and dance in the sun till you are tired. I'll wait till then. The effervescence and froth of the cup will have passed away, and there will be but the sweet, clear wine of your woman's nature left for me to drink. I'll wait till then." Again Helen's laugh rang out, but the Resident remained unmoved. "Am I a coxcomb--a conceited idiot?" he said; then softly, "I hope not. Time will prove." "I don't care, Harry; I will not have it!" "But it is only girlish nonsense, my dear." "Then the young ladies in our charge shall not indulge in girlish nonsense. It is not becoming. Grey Stuart never gets a cluster of young men round her like a queen in a court." "More fools the young men, my dear," said the doctor; "for Grey is really as sweet a maiden as--" "Henry!" "Well, really, my dear, I mean it. Hang it, my dear Mary! don't think I mean anything but fatherly feeling towards the child. Hallo, Harley! you there? Why are you not paying your court yonder?" "Because, my dear Bolter, your good lady here has given me one severe castigation to-day for the very sin."