"That is excellent. Do you regard love as a blind ditch?" "The deepest and worst of them all, judging from the experiences of very many." "I am inclined to agree with you," he answered very quietly. A few moments later he rose to take his leave. She gave him her hand without rising, and said, "Good-night. I'm not going to leave this lovely scene till I am sleepy. Come again when you want companionship. Drop conventionality I would like a friend who would talk to me as men of brains talk to men of brains, without circumlocution." "Very well, then, I shall begin at once. You have a head that ought to inspire an artist, but I like its furniture. I am going to read up on our point of disagreement. If I actually prove you are wrong you must yield like a man." "I will." The smile on her lips still lingered as she looked out upon the moonlit waters, and she passed into a delicious revery. At last she murmured, "Yes, he has a chance. I don't know how it will end. I may yield to his argument, but as to yielding to him, that is another affair. The best part of it all is that he is so slow in yielding to me. Here, in this out-of-the-way corner of the world, is a cup that I can at least drain slowly." Clancy sauntered up Meeting Street, his thoughts preoccupied with the interview. Then half a block in advance two persons entered the thoroughfare, and he recognized Captain Bodine and Mara. He crossed the street so as not to meet them, and they passed in low, earnest conversation. If Miss Ainsley had been in the furthest star, he would not have cared. Every drop of his Southern blood was fired, and, with clinched hands, he strode homeward, and passed a sleepless night. CHAPTER XIX A CHIVALROUS IMPULSE It must be admitted that Clancy had some cause for his perturbation. Captain Bodine was a middle-aged man, who had had deep, if not wide experiences. He had come to regard himself as saddened and way-worn, halting slowly down the westward slope of life, away from the exaltations of vanished joys, and the almost despairing grief of former sorrows. Memory kept both in sharp outline; nevertheless they were receding, as do hills and mountains which the traveller leaves behind him. The veteran had believed that he had no future besides earning an honest living, and providing for his beloved child. The traveller--to employ again the figure--often journeys forward in what promises to be a monotonous road. He is not expecting anything, nor is he looking forward to any material change. Unawares he surmounts a little eminence, and there opens a vista which kindles his dull eyes with its beauty, and stirs his heavy heart with the suggestion that he has not passed by and beyond all the best things of life.