"My dear," he said, "I do not mean to be flippant. Of course, you know, Paula, that I was very much in love with Cécile and took it very hard when she told me that she did not care for me in the same way. I did not try to argue the matter, but started in to forget my own troubles in trying to interest myself a bit in those of other people who were much worse off. The result was most successful, although all of my friends seem to find it very amusing...." "You mean your charity? That was splendid, Huntington...." "The motive was originally selfish ... but I don't think that it is so now. Because I am cured." He paused, as though thinking of how best to go on. "What I wish to say now, Paula, is rather difficult. Perhaps I had better not try any complicated self-analysis. When Cécile refused me, I thought that my life was blasted and that I should never love again, and most of the things, I suppose, that young men usually think under these circumstances. I don't claim any originality. It has not been so. My life is not in the least blasted, and I do love again, and very, very deeply. I love you, Paula, and I want you for my wife. Will you marry me, dear?" Paula appeared to have some difficulty with her breathing. Perhaps it was the fog, which, at any rate, had very evidently got into her eyes. She turned slowly to Wood, her face very pale, and her sweet mouth quivering. They were standing near the main rigging, and Paula steadied herself by gripping a lanyard. This may have been due to the very slight heave coming in from the sea. "Huntington," she said, "do you think that you are quite sure?" "There is no longer the slightest doubt, Paula." The girl did not seem able to speak. As if seeking counsel she turned again to the sea. Wood waited, his eyes upon her face. He was impressed by the sweet purity of her profile, cut like a cameo against the white fog. There was the family likeness to her sisters in the short, straight-bridged nose with its seductive tip; a frivolity of feature corrected by the straight, pretty mouth and decisive chin. Paula's face in repose had sometimes a touch of melancholy not to be found with her sisters. There was a touch of the Madonna of the Italian painters. "Paula," said Wood, with the tone of one who offers not a compliment but a simple fact, "you are a very beautiful woman. You will grow even more beautiful as you get older." She turned to him with a faint smile. "I am glad that I please you, Huntington ... but..." He stepped forward quickly and took her hand. She twisted it away, almost impatiently.