"Am I to count for nothing, then, when Gerald is in trouble?" she demanded, flushing up. "Count! Count!" he repeated impatiently; "of course you count! Good heavens! it's women like you who count--and no others--not one single other sort is of the slightest consequence in the world or to it. Count? Child, you control us all; everything of human goodness, of human hope hinges and hangs on you--is made possible, inevitable, because of you! And you ask me whether you count! You, who control us all, and always will--as long as you are you!" She had turned a little pale under his vehemence, watching him out of wide and beautiful eyes. What she understood--how much of his incoherence she was able to translate, is a question; but in his eyes and voice there was something simpler to divine; and she stood very still while his roused emotions swept her till her heart leaped up and every vein in her ran fiery pride. "I am--overwhelmed . . . I did not consider that I counted--so vitally--in the scheme of things. But I must try to--if you believe all this of me--only you must teach me how to count for something in the world. Will you?" "Teach you, Eileen. What winning mockery! _I_ teach _you_? Well, then--I teach you this--that a man's blunder is best healed by a man's sympathy; . . . I will stand by Gerald as long as he will let me do so--not alone for your sake, nor only for his, but for my own. I promise you that. Are you contented?" "Yes." She slowly raised one hand, laying it fearlessly in both of his. "He is all I have left," she said. "You know that." "I know, child." "Then--thank you, Captain Selwyn." "No; I thank you for giving me this charge. It means that a man must raise his own standard of living before he can accept such responsibility. . . . You endow me with all that a man ought to be; and my task is doubled; for it is not only Gerald but I myself who require surveillance." He looked up, smilingly serious: "Such women as you alone can fit your brother and me for an endless guard duty over the white standard you have planted on the outer walls of the world." "You say things to me--sometimes--" she faltered, "that almost hurt with the pleasure they give." "Did that give you pleasure?" "Y-yes; the surprise of it was almost too--too keen. I wish you would not--but I am glad you did. . . . You see"--dropping into a great velvet chair--"having been of no serious consequence to anybody for so many years--to be told, suddenly, that I--that I count so vitally with men--a man like you--" She sank back, drew one small hand across her eyes, and rested a moment; then leaning forward, she set her elbow on one knee and bracketed her chin between forefinger and thumb.