The man was keeping his temper in the face of considerable provocation, and Jean liked him better at that moment than she had done throughout the entire afternoon. Tormarin’s own attitude she quite failed to understand, and after Burke’s departure she took him to task for his churlishness. “It was really absurd of you, Blaise,” she scolded, half-smiling, half in genuine vexation. “As if Mr. Burke could possibly be held responsible for the actions of a mischievous schoolboy! At least he did all he could to repair the damage; he brought me back, and recovered the missing pair of oars for me. You hadn’t the least reason to flare up like that.” Blaise listened to her quietly. The anger had died out of his face and his eyes were somewhat sad. “You’re right,” he said at last, “absolutely right. But there rarely is any reason for a Tormarin’s temper. Do you know--it sounds ridiculous, but it’s perfectly true--it was all I could do not to knock Burke down.” “My dear Blaise, you fill me with alarm! I’d no idea you were such a bloodthirsty individual! But seriously, what had the poor man done to incur your wrath? He’s been most helpful.” There was an element of self-mockery in the brief smile which crossed his face. “Perhaps that was just it. I’ve rather grown to look upon it as my own particular prerogative to help you out of difficulties.” “Well, naturally I’d rather it had been you,” she allowed, twinkling. “Do you mean that?”--swiftly. “Of course I do”--lightly. She had failed to notice the eagerness of demand in his quick question. “I’m more used to it! Besides, I believe Mr. Burke rather frightens me. He’s a trifle--overwhelming. Still”--shaking her head reprovingly--“I don’t think that excuses you. You must have a shocking temper.” He laughed shortly. “Most of the Tormarins have ruined their lives by their temper. I’m no exception to the rule.” Jean’s thought flew back to the description she had overheard when in London: “_A Tormarin in a temper is like a devil with the bit between his teeth_.” “Then it’s true, escaped her lips. “What’s true?”--with some surprise. “That the Tormarins are a vile-tempered lot? Quite. If you want to know more about it, ask my mother. She’ll tell you how I came by this white lock of hair--the mark of the beast.” Jean was trying to make the comments of the woman at the hotel and Blaise’s own confession tally with her recollection of the latter’s complete self-control on several occasions when he, or any other man, might have been pardoned for yielding to momentary anger.