"You have made it difficult for me to say a word----" she began, smiling down upon him with her glorious eyes. Then she seemed to become speechless. The oriflamme of her red-gold hair shone with a delicious burnish under the shaded electric light. Her flushed oval cheek glowed with a suggestion of thrilling happiness. The old man caught and held her hands, and, the next moment, she had bent her slimly graceful body and impressed upon his rugged cheek a kiss of deep affection. Still she remained speechless, and she turned and glanced with dewy eyes in appeal to the great husband looking on. "Won't you help me?" she demanded wistfully. Ruxton laughed happily. "Help?" he said quickly. Then he shook his head. "No, no. You don't need any help. Just tell him what you once told me. You remember." His eyes became serious. "You said 'I love him almost as if he were really my own father.' He won't need more." And Vita obeyed him, reciting the words almost like some child. But she meant them, and felt them, and at the last word her glance was full of a whimsical light as she added of her own initiative-- "And aren't you two dears going to smoke?" Half an hour later the two men were sitting alone in Ruxton's study. The smoke of their cigars hung heavily upon the air of the room. There had come a moment of profound silence between them. They had talked of the happenings of that day: of the test of their new submersible: its simple triumph, and all it meant in the cause of humanity, of that progress towards a lasting peace among nations which mankind was yearning to achieve. Each man had offered his own view-point for discussion, and it seemed as if the last word had at length been spoken. But they sat on in silence, and Sir Andrew watched the reflective eyes of his idealist son. He was speculating as to what deep thought still lay unvoiced behind them, and he urged him. "Well, boy? It has been a long day. Is it bed? Or are you going to put into words that dream I see moving behind your eyes?" Ruxton broke into a short, nervous laugh which died out with a curious, sober abruptness.