"I trust--I beg that you will forgive me if anything I have said appears harsh. I am not used to women's ways, and have been but little in their society, but I have spoken out of the depths of my heart. It hurt me when the child left me, but I was glad, for his sake, and I readily recognise the unstinted generosity you appear to display toward him. But, madam, I entreat you to remember not only the child, but the man who is growing up under your hands." She sat for a long time in the same attitude, and when, presently, she raised her head and spoke, he saw with contrition that her lips were quivering; she even stretched one hand toward him for a moment, as though to ask his pardon. "You're a good man," she said, in a curiously altered voice. "And I am--well, I'm a wicked old fool. I've been treating this child like a toy, holding him before all my friends, that they might see what a beautiful thing I had managed to secure. Friends, indeed!" she cried, fiercely, getting up and beginning to pace about, "there isn't one of them I care a brass farthing for; there isn't one of them I wouldn't show the door to-morrow. Oh, you're right; you're very right, and I'm a monster. I've been given this glorious thing from God, and I don't even know how to take care of it. Captain, I'm sorry to think, from what I know of the world, that there are very few men who would have been brave enough to say what you have said to-night. But there's a Providence in your coming--a Providence that set the boy longing to see you. I--I am more glad than I can say that you came here. I've been blind--blind in two senses--but I'll end it. By the Lord! I'll make this boy what you say he should be; he sha'n't minister to my whims any longer." She began to laugh, and shook her head at him whimsically. "Oh, I like you; it's refreshing to meet a man like you occasionally--you're precious rare. By George! you did more for the boy than I did, and knew more about him--upon my word you did. Oh, I'll be good to him, I'll be proud of him. I want--I want to think about all this; and then I'll talk to you about what's best to be done for him. Give me your hand. Will you promise to stay here a week at least--now, I'll take no denial--a week at least? It'll make the boy happy, and it'll do him good, and it'll take him away from me, which'll do him good too." "Then I won't stay," said the captain, with a smile. "Very well then," she exclaimed, "we'll do what we can with him together. Oh, you needn't be afraid; I haven't spoiled him yet. But you've got to advise me what to do. It's evident, although it hurts me to say it, that I'm no good at the game."