“Mary,” he cried, fired by the instinct to make the courage of their mating artistically perfect. “I've told you about my pictures. I know they are good--I know I can sell them in New York. But let's not wait for that. Let's bind ourselves together before we put our fortunes to the touch! Then we shall be one, whatever happens. We shall have that.” He kissed her, seeing her half won. “You've got five hundred dollars, I've only got fifty, but the pictures are worth thousands,” he went on rapidly. “We can have a wonderful week in the country somewhere, and have plenty left to live on while I'm negotiating the sale. Even at the worst,” he exulted, “I'm strong. I can work at anything--with you! I don't mind asking you to spend your money, sweetheart, because I _know_ my things are worth it five times over.” She was rather breathless by this time. He pressed his advantage, holding her close. “Beloved, I've found you. Suppose I lost you! Suppose, when you were somewhere in the city without me, you got run over or something.” Even as she was, strained to him, she saw the horror that the thought conjured in his eyes, and touched his cheek with her hand, protectingly. “No,” he pleaded, “don't let us run any risks with our wonderful happiness, don't let us ever leave each other!” He looked imploringly at her. She saw that for Stefan what he urged was right. Her love drew her to him, and upon its altar she laid her own retarding instinct in happy sacrifice. She drew his head to hers, and holding his face in the cup of her hands, kissed him with an almost solemn tenderness. This was her surrender. She took upon herself the burden of his happiness, even as she yielded to her own. It was a sacrament. He saw it only as a response. Later in the day Stefan sought out the New England spinster, Miss Mason, who sat opposite to him at table. He had entirely ignored her hitherto, but he remembered hearing her talk familiarly about New York, and his male instinct told him that in her he would find a ready confidante. Such she proved, and a most flattered and delighted one. Moreover she proffered all the information and assistance he desired. She had moved from Boston five years ago, she said, and shared a flat with a widowed sister uptown. If they docked that night Miss Elliston could spend it with them. The best and cheapest places to go to near the city, she assured him, were on Long Island. She mentioned one where she had spent a month, a tiny village of summer bungalows on the Sound, with one small but comfortable inn. Questioned further, she was sure this inn would be nearly empty, but not closed, now in mid-September. She was evidently practical, and pathetically eager to help.