She scarcely heard. She was gazing with all her mind and heart at the new Chang revealed clearly for the first time in the intense earnestness of this their first profoundly and crucially serious talk. This was the man her father had warned her about. There were dark circles round her eyes as if they had been bruised, and in them the look of present pain. He happened to glance at her. He saw--groaned. “No matter!” he cried. “I love you. I can’t bear it. I’m weak--contemptibly weak where you’re concerned. We’ll surely fail--fail miserably. But we must go on, now. I had a presentiment--I was a damn fool to come here to-day. Yes--we’ve drifted too far. We must go on--over the falls.” He stopped, appalled by his own passionate outburst. She shook her head slowly. “No, we must not go on,” said she. Her tone instantly calmed his runaway passion; he stared in amazement. “You really feel like that?” she went on--“feel it’d be weak and wrong for you to marry me?” “I have told you the truth--about yourself and about me,” was his reply. “You surely must see it.” She gave a long sigh, furtive, deep. But her voice was steady as she said sadly: “Then--we must give each other up.” “That is certainly best,” promptly assented he. “You see now that you didn’t want me, but only your own way.” “I see that we should not be happy. I don’t understand your point of view. I suppose I’m not experienced enough. But I see you are in earnest--that it isn’t just a--a notion with you. So--” From her face waned the last glimmer of its look of the springtime. Her voice sank almost to a whisper--“I give up.” He stood with aggressive erectness. “Then--it is settled.” She nodded without looking at him. She could not trust herself to look. “I’ll not bother you any more,” said she. He saw that he was victor--had gained his point. Yet never did man look or feel less the victor. He put out his hand; she let hers rest in it. “Good-by, Rix,” he said with a brave attempt at philosophic calm. “This is much better than seeing our love end in a quarrel and a scandal--isn’t it?” “You go--in the morning?” “Yes.” Her hand dropped to her lap. He looked steadily at her, with no restraint upon his expression, because her eyes were down. “Good-by,” he repeated. He waited for a reply, but none came. With that long, sure stride of his, free and graceful, he went to the stairway and descended--and departed. XXI ROGER WINS La Provence was due to sail in twenty minutes. One whistle had blown; one of the gangways was casting off. Roger, with a suppressed excitement more effective than any shouting or waving of fists, was superintending the taking of his luggage from the ship. “There’s still one piece to come ashore--the old leather trunk with brass nails,” he said to the polite chief steward. “It must be found. Double your efforts and I’ll double your fee.” He turned, found himself squarely facing Beatrice Richmond.