“You’ve kept afloat some time,” he observed, with an approving air. He liked pluck in boys--even ugly whimpering boys. His end went under, and he came up gurgling and spitting. He felt now as if he had no legs at all. Johnny had stopped swearing, but was blubbering worse than ever. “Damn it,” said the passenger, “haven’t I made enough people do that?” And he added, “Ta-ta, Johnny,” and let go the spar. His legs were there, after all, and they let him know it. For time unmeasured he battled for the life he was weary of, and would not let himself be pushed through the open door. But at last he crossed its threshold. Johnny was drowned too. But then the passenger had always protested against his acts being judged by their consequences; and it doesn’t seem fair to take it against him both ways. LOVE’S LOGIC[1] _The Scene is a hall or corridor, lying between two conservatories, one on the right, the other on the left. Besides plants and other ornaments, the corridor is furnished with a couch and a small round table with an arm-chair by it. The time is between eleven and twelve in the evening._ _Mr Marchesson’s back is visible in the doorway leading to the conservatory on the right._ Mr M. (_Speaking to unseen person in the conservatory._) So awfully sorry, but I absolutely promised to meet a man at the club. (_Pause._) Beg pardon? Oh, a fellow named Smith--you don’t know him. (_Pause._) Yes, I hope we shall meet soon, but I’m rather afraid I may have to go out of town. (_Pause._) Good-night. (_Backs a little further into the corridor._) Phew! _Miss Grainger’s back appears in the doorway leading to the conservatory on the left._ Miss G. (_Speaking to unseen person in the conservatory._) Yes, of course we shall be friends. What? (_Pause._) Oh yes, _great_ friends, What? (_Pause._) I don’t know--I may be going out of town. Good-night. (_She backs into the corridor, throws her eyes upwards, and draws in her breath with a long sigh._) _Mr M. meanwhile has taken out a cigarette, and is just about to light it when they turn and see one another. Both start, smile, and then become grave and rather formal in manner._ Mr M. (_Putting his hands--with the cigarette and the match-box--behind him._) Oh, I beg pardon! I didn’t think anybody--(_He turns as if to retreat into the conservatory._) Miss G. Please don’t go--and please do smoke. It’s so nice and cool here, isn’t it? (_She sits down on the couch and fans herself gently._) Mr M. May I really? (_He comes forward a little, holding up his cigarette._) You’re sure you don’t mind? (_She nods. He lights the cigarette._) Miss G. It’s so warm in that conservatory. (_Pointing to the left._) Mr M. (_With feeling._) So it was in that one. (_Pointing to the right. He wipes his brow, she fans herself assiduously._) Ouf! Miss G. You _do_ look rather--flustered. Mr M. Well--in fact--so do you.