"Yes," he said, with a profound sigh, "I love her--that's as clear as daylight; and she does not love me--that's clearer than daylight. Unrequited love! That's what I've come to! Nevertheless, I'm not in wild despair. How's that? I don't want to shoot or drown myself. How's that? On the contrary, I want to live and rescue her. I could serve or die for that child with pleasure--without even the reward of a smile! There must be something peculiar here. Is it--can it be Platonic love? Of course that must be it. Yes, I've often heard and read of that sort of love before. I _know_ it now, and--and--I rather like it!" "You don't look as if you did, Geo'ge," said a deep voice beside him. George started up with a face of scarlet. "Peter!" he exclaimed fiercely, "did you hear me speak? _What_ did you hear?" "Halo! Geo'ge, don't squeeze my arm so! You's hurtin' me. I hear you say somet'ing 'bout plotummik lub, but what sort o' lub that may be is more'n I kin tell." "Are you _sure_ that is all you--But come, Peter, I should have no secrets from _you_. The truth is," (he whispered low here), "I have seen Hester Sommers--here, in this room, not half an hour ago--and--and I feel that I am hopelessly in love with her--Platonically, that is--but I fear you won't understand what that means--" The midshipman stopped abruptly. For the first time since they became acquainted he saw a grave expression of decided disapproval on the face of his sable friend. "Geo'ge," said Peter solemnly, "you tell me you hab took 'vantage ob bein' invited to your master's house to make lub--plo--plotummikilly or oderwise--to your master's slabe?" "No, Peter, I told you nothing of the sort. The meeting with Hester was purely accidental--at least it was none of my seeking--and I did _not_ make love to her--" "Did _she_ make lub to you, Geo'ge--plo--plotummikilly." "Certainly not. She came to ask about her poor father, and I saw that she is far too young to _think_ of falling in love at all. What I said was that _I_ have fallen hopelessly in love, and that as I cannot hope that she will ever be--be _mine_, I have made up my mind to love her hopelessly, but loyally, to the end of life, and serve or die for her if need be." "Oh! das all right, Geo'ge. If dat's what you calls plo--plotummik lub--lub away, my boy, as hard's you kin. Same time, I's not kite so sure dat she's too young to hub. An' t'ings ain't allers as hopeless as dey seems. But now, what's dis you bin do here? My! How pritty. Oh! das _real_ bootiful. But what's you got in de ceiling--de sun, eh?" He pointed to the dab of crimson-lake. Foster explained that it was merely a "bit of colour." "Ob course! A cow wid half an eye could see dat!" "Well--but I mean--it's a sort of--a kind of--tone to paint up to." "H'm! das strange now. I don't hear no sound nowhar!" "Well, then, it's a shadow, Peter."