"How did you manage it?" I asked--not that there was much real need of inquiry. "Of course I told him that the Institute was nothing but an idea, and that, even if it were built, its being at Hatcham Ford was the merest idea, and that, even if it had to be at Hatcham Ford--well, I pointed out that two years are two years--(You needn't take the trouble to nod about that--it was quite a sensible remark)--that two years are two years and that very likely he wouldn't want the house at all by then." "I see." "So, of course, he apologized for his rudeness and promised not to be so foolish again, and we said good night quite friends. What have you been thinking about?" "I don't think I could possibly tell you." I was just opening the door for her. She paused on the threshold, lifting her brows a little and smiling as she whispered, "Something uncomplimentary?" "That depends what you want to be complimented on," I answered. "Oh, as long as it's on anything!" she cried. "You'll admit my compliments to-night have been terribly left-handed?" "I don't know that mine hasn't a touch of that. Well--I think it's very brave to play games in the crater of an active volcano--exceedingly brave it is!" "Brave? But not very----?" "Let's leave it where it is. What about Cartmell's letter?" "That'll do to-morrow." (Of course it would--it had been only an instrument of dismissal.) "I'm tired to-night." Her face grew grave: she experienced another mood--or touched another note. "My friend, you must believe that I always listen to what you say. I mayn't see things just as you seem to, sometimes, but what you say always makes me think. By the bye, are you very busy, or could you ride to-morrow?" "Of course!" I cried eagerly. "Seven-thirty, as usual?" "A quarter to eight sharp. Good night." She gave me a contented friendly smile, with just a hint of triumph about it, and went upstairs. It shows what a good thing life is that I, too, in spite of my questionings and apprehension, repaired home forgetful of them for the time and full of exultation. I loved riding; and Jenny on horseback was a companion for a god. On reflection it might have occurred to me that it was easier for her to invite me to ride than to listen too exactly to my counsels--quite as easy and really as well calculated to keep me content. Happily the youth in me found in her more than the subject of fears or the source of questionings. She could also delight. CHAPTER VI TAKING TO OPEN SEA