"There is a curious fatality about all this," he said. "It was no kindness of either yours or mine." He glanced over her head at the rapidly approaching wharf ahead and then at her face. "For eighteen months," he said, speaking rather quickly, "I've been like the prophet Jonah--looking for a sign. I looked to you for it, Miss Cecily," he said, "and I can't truthfully say it showed itself in a single word or look or gesture." He took a deep breath. "I'm not going to let you tell me I'm labouring under any misapprehensions. But this"--he made a little comprehensive gesture--"this is too much like the hand of Fate to disregard. Miss Cecily," he said, "little Miss Cecily, you've just twisted your fingers round my heart and I can't loose them." "Please," said Cecily, "ah, no, please don't...." Some irresponsible imp in her intelligence made her want to tell him that it wasn't Jonah who looked for a sign. "Listen," said Armitage. He was literally holding her before him by the sheer strength of his kindly, compelling personality. "When this racket started--this war--I told them at the Admiralty my age was forty-five. It was a lie--I am fifty-two. I've knocked about the world; I know men and cities and the places where there are neither. But I've lived clean all my life and I was never gladder of it than I am at this moment...." Cecily had a conviction that unless she could stop him she would have to start crying very soon. But there were no words somehow that seemed adequate to the situation. "I know, dear," he went on in his grave quiet voice, "that at your age money, and all the things it buys, seem just empty folly. But, believe me, there comes a time when being rich counts a lot towards happiness. I'm not trying to dazzle you, but you know all mine is yours--you shall live in Park Lane if you care to--or I'll turn all wide Scotland into a deer forest for you to play in...." He paused. "But there is one thing, of course, that might make all this sound vulgar and sordid." He considered her with his clear blue eyes. "Are you in love with anyone else?" he asked. Cecily clutched recklessly at the alternative to absurd tears. "Yes," she said. Armitage stood quite still for a moment. His calm, direct gaze never left her face, and after a moment he squared his big shoulders with an abrupt, characteristic movement. "Then he is the luckiest man," he said quietly, "that ever won God's most perfect gift." He gave her a funny stiff little inclination of the head and walked away. * * * * * Otto von Sperrgebiet did not raise the periscope above the surface again for some hours. The Submarine, entirely submerged, drove through the water until night. After nightfall they travelled on the surface until the first pale bars of dawn appeared in the eastern sky. Von Sperrgebiet was on the conning-tower as soon as it was light, searching the horizon with his glasses.