Nan was in magnificent spirits, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with the joy of a child. Stuart watched her with growing wonder at her eternal youth. She was more beautiful in her stylish yachting costume than the day she landed in New York, at nineteen. There was not a line in the smooth surface of her rounded neck and shoulders. The night was one of extraordinary springlike air though it was the fifteenth of December. A gentle breeze was blowing from the south and the full moon flooded the smooth sea with soft silvery radiance. Nan insisted that Stuart sit on deck with her. There was no help for it. Bivens would allow no one except the doctor in his room, and so he resigned himself to the beauty of the glorious scene. Not a sound broke the stillness save the soft ripple of the water about the bow of the swan-like yacht. Nan sat humming a song, when she suddenly stopped and leaned toward Stuart. "Jim!" she said, softly. He looked up with a start. "I honestly believe you were asleep!" she laughed with a touch of petulance. "No," he protested seriously. "I was just drinking in the joy of this wonderful night." "Forgetting that I exist?" Stuart looked at her intently a moment and said, gravely: "As if any man who ever knew you, could forget!" "I don't like your attitude, Jim, and I think we'd better fight it out here and now in the beginning of this trip." "And what is my offense?" "Not offense, but defense." "Why Nan!" "It's useless to deny it," she said banteringly. "You hesitated to come on deck with me in the moonlight this evening. You've kept trotting to Cal's stateroom, when he only begs to be let alone." "Honestly----" "It's no use to shuffle. I'm going to be perfectly frank with you. Your assumption of such chilling virtue is insulting. I wish an apology and a promise never to do so again." "Have I really made you feel this?" he asked, contritely. "You have, and feel it keenly. Let's come to an understanding. You and I both live in glass houses set on a very high hill. No matter what may be the secrets of my heart, I'm not a fool and you can trust my good sense." Stuart pressed her hand, and said gently: "I'm awfully sorry if I've made such an ass of myself that you have received this impression." "You repent?" "In sackcloth and ashes." "Then I forgive you," she cried, with a laugh, releasing her hand and rising, "but on one condition." "Name it." "That from this hour you be your old self, without restraint, and let me be mine." "I promise faithfully." "Then, you can help me down that steep companion-way and I'll go to bed." He held her hand with firm grasp as she picked her way down the steps. Her eyes looked straight into the depths of his as her face almost touched him. He was sure that she had felt the mad impulse to take her in his arms that quivered in every nerve and muscle of his body, for his hand trembled and she smiled. At her stateroom door she paused, smiled again and said: