“Can’t make up your mind whether I come in?” “No.” She looked up brightly, with an effect of impulsiveness. “I don’t suppose you want to give me another week?” “A reprieve! But why? You’re going to marry me.” “I suppose so.” She laughed. “I wish I could have my cake, and eat it, too.” “It would be a moral iniquity to encourage such a system of ethics.” “So you won’t give me a week?” she sighed. “All sorts of things might have happened in that week. I shall always believe that the fairy prince would have come for me.” “Believe that he HAS come,” he claimed. “Oh, I didn’t mean a prince of pirates, though there is a triumph in having tamed a pirate chief to prosaic matrimony. In one way it will be a pity, too. You won’t be half so picturesque. You remember how Stevenson puts it: ‘that marriage takes from a man the capacity for great things, whether good or bad.’” “I can stand a good deal of taming.” “Domesticating a pirate ought to be an interesting process,” she conceded, her rare smile flashing. “It should prove a cure for ENNUI, but then I’m never a victim of that malady.” “Am I being told that I am to be the happiest pirate alive?” “I expect you are.” His big hand gripped hers till it tingled. She caught his eye on a roving quest to the door. “We don’t have to do that,” she announced hurriedly, with an embarrassed flush. “I don’t do it because I have to,” he retorted, kissing her on the lips. She fell back, protesting. “Under the circumstances—” The butler, with a card on a tray, interrupted silently. She glanced at the card, devoutly grateful his impassive majesty’s entrance had not been a moment earlier. “Show him in here.” “The fairy prince, five minutes too late?” asked Ridgway, when the man had gone. For answer she handed him the card, yet he thought the pink that flushed her cheek was something more pronounced than usual. But he was willing to admit there might be a choice of reasons for that. “Lyndon Hobart” was the name he read. “I think the Consolidated is going to have its innings. I should like to stay, of course, but I fear I must plead a subsequent engagement and leave the field to the enemy.” Pronouncing “Mr. Hobart” without emphasis, the butler vanished. The newcomer came forward with the quiet assurance of the born aristocrat. He was a slender, well-knit man, dressed fastidiously, with clear-cut, classical features; cool, keen eyes, and a gentle, you-be-damned manner to his inferiors. Beside him Ridgway bulked too large, too florid. His ease seemed a little obvious, his prosperity overemphasized. Even his voice, strong and reliant, lacked the tone of gentle blood that Hobart had inherited with his nice taste.