For two moments he debated many things in his mind. Did not women of old sometimes relent? He asked himself over and over again the same questions, pleaded to himself the same arguments. After all, he reasoned, this was only a woman. Eventually she must yield to one sort of treatment or the other. He had not reflected that, though the ages in some ways have stood still, in others they have gone forward. In bodily presence woman has not much changed, this age with that. The canons of art remain the same, the ideals of art are the same. These and those lines, gracious, compelling,--this and that color, enchanting, alluring, so much white flesh, thus much crown of tresses--they have for ages served to rob men of reason. They have not changed. What this man could not realize was that there may be changes not of color and of curve. Not so long as all this they gazed at each other, measured, took ground, gaging each the adversary opposite. "Do not go!" he almost commanded. She was half way to the door. "Why not, sir?" She wheeled on him fiercely. "Because,--at least, you would not be so cruel--" "I thank you, but I am leaving the boat at the first opportunity. It is impossible for us to continue an acquaintance formed thus irregularly." "On the contrary, my dear!" The ring in his voice terrified her, but his terms angered her yet more. "I do not in the least understand you, sir! I am accustomed to do quite as I like. And you may address me as the Countess St. Auban." "Why should we talk of this?" he retorted. "Why talk to me of countesses? To me you are something better as you stand,--the most beautiful girl, the most splendid human being, I ever saw in all my life. If you are doing quite as you like, why should you ask me to come to your aid? And why will you not now accept my aid when it is offered? The relations under which you have been traveling with this other gentleman were not quite clear to me, but such as they were--" "Do you lack courage, sir, to say that he has quit-claimed me to you? Am I still a prisoner? Are you to be my new jailer? By what right, then?" Dunwody had not gathered all the story of this woman and her earlier guardian; more than she herself could guess what had been Carlisle's motive or plan in leaving her to her own devices. That she was the victim simply of a daring kidnapping could, not have occurred to him. What then did she mean by talking of prisoners? "After all, you were not that amanuensis which you yourself claimed to be?" "I was not. Of course I was not. I am the Countess St. Auban. It is not necessary for me to serve any man, in my capacity." "Why, then, did you say you were?" "Because I thought I was still to be in that gentleman's charge. I did not know he was about to desert me. I preferred his company to worse." "He has only given you your own wish--I hope it is still your wish. I hope it is not 'worse.'"