"And you admire most what you don't understand about her! Now that you examine me in the light of day you see what a tremendous difference there is between us. I am altogether obvious; I am not the least bit subtle. But Helen puzzles and thwarts you. She finds keen delight in antagonizing you; and she as much as says to you, 'Mr. Donovan, you are a frightfully conceited person, and you have had many adventures by sea and shore, and you think you know all about human nature and women, but I--_I_--am quite as wise and resourceful as you are, and whether I am right or wrong I'm going to fight you, fight you, fight you!' There, Mr. Laurance Donovan, is the whole matter in a nut-shell, and I should like you to know that I am not at all deceived by you. You did me a great service last night, and you would serve me again, I am confident of it; and I hope, when all these troubles are over, that we shall continue--my father, and you and I--the best friends in the world." I can not deny that I was a good deal abashed by this declaration spoken without coquetry, and with a sincerity of tone and manner that seemed conclusive. I began stammering some reply, but she recurred abruptly to the serious business that hung over us. "I know you will do what you can for Aunt Pat. I wish you would tell her, if you think it wise, that father is here. They should understand each other. And Helen, my splendid, courageous, beautiful cousin,--you see I don't grudge her even her better looks, or that intrepid heart that makes us so different. I am sure you can manage all these things in the best possible way. And now I must find my father, and tell him that you are going to arrange a meeting with Aunt Pat, and talk to him of our future." She led the way up to the garden, and as I struck off into the road she waved her hand to me, standing under the overhanging sign that proclaimed Hartridge, the canoe-maker, at Red Gate. CHAPTER XIX HELEN TAKES ME TO TASK My Lady's name, when I hear strangers use, Not meaning her, to me sounds lax misuse; I love none but my Lady's name; Maude, Grace, Rose, Marian, all the same, Are harsh, or blank and tame. * * * * * Fresh beauties, howsoe'er she moves, are stirr'd: As the sunn'd bosom of a humming-bird At each pant lifts some fiery hue, Fierce gold, bewildering green or blue; The same, yet ever new. --_Thomas Woolner_.