"Ye're not to say another word, sir," he said, and he stuck out his big hand, which I grasped warmly. My affection for McCann still remains a strong one. After my talk with McCann I was sitting on the forecastle propped against the bitts of the Maria's anchor-chain, and looking at the swirling foam cast up by the tug's propeller. There were many things I wished to turn over in my mind just then, but I had not long been in a state of reverie when I became conscious that Miss Thorn was standing beside me. I got to my feet. "I have been wondering how long you would remain in that trance, Mr. Crocker," she said. "Is it too much to ask what you were thinking of?" Now it so chanced that I was thinking of her at that moment. It would never have done to say this, so I stammered. And Miss Thorn was a young woman of tact. "I should not have put that to so literal a man as you," she declared. "I fear that you are incapable of crossing swords. And then," she added, with a slight hesitation that puzzled me, "I did not come up here to ask you that,--I came to get your opinion." "My opinion?" I repeated. "Not your legal opinion," she replied, smiling, "but your opinion as a citizen, as an individual, if you have one. To be frank, I want your opinion of me. Do you happen to have such a thing?" I had. But I was in no condition to give it. "Do you think me a very wicked girl?" she asked, coloring. "You once thought me inconsistent, I believe, but I am not that. Have I done wrong in leading the Celebrity to the point where you saw him this morning?" "Heaven forbid!" I cried fervently; "but you might have spared me a great deal had you let me into the secret." "Spared you a great deal," said Miss Thorn. "I--I don't quite understand." "Well--" I began, and there I stayed. All the words in the dictionary seemed to slip out of my grasp, and I foundered. I realized I had said something which even in my wildest moments I had not dared to think of. My secret was out before I knew I possessed it. Bad enough had I told it to Farrar in an unguarded second. But to her! I was blindly seeking some way of escape when she said softly: "Did you really care?" I am man enough, I hope, when there is need to be. And it matters not what I felt then, but the words came back to me. "Marian," I said, "I cared more than you will ever learn." But it seems that she had known all the time, almost since that night I had met her at the train. And how? I shall not pretend to answer, that being quite beyond me. I am very sure of one thing, however, which is that I never told a soul, man or woman, or even hinted at it. How was it possible when I didn't know myself?