And he understood women so little that he did not realize that he was

making the ages-old plea which has softened feminine rancor ever since

the Sabine women were borne away in their captors' arms and forgave

their captors.

She stared at him, making once more a maiden's swift appraisal of this

young man who had offered himself so humbly as a sacrifice. His brown

hands were crossed in front of him and clutched convulsively his white

cap. The cap and the linen above the collar of his uniform coat brought

out to the full the hue of his manly tan. The red flush of his shocked

contrition touched his cheeks, and, all in all, whatever the daughter of

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Julius Marston, Wall Street priest of high finance, may have thought of

his effrontery, the melting look she gave him from under lowered eyelids

indicated her appreciation of his outward excellencies.

"I suppose you are thoroughly and properly ashamed of what you have

done!"

"I am ashamed--so ashamed that I shall never dare to raise my eyes to

you again. I will do what I promised. I will jump overboard."

"Captain Mayo, look at me!"

When he obeyed, with the demeanor of a whipped hound, his perturbation

would not allow him to show as much appreciation of her as she had

displayed in the secret study of him, which she now promptly concealed.

He surveyed her wistfully, with fear. And a maiden, after she has

understood that she has obtained mastery over brawn and soul, does not

care to be looked at as if she were Medusa.

She stole a side-glance at her face in one of the mirrors, and then

tucked into place a vagrant lock of hair with a shapely finger, thereby

suggesting, had there been a cynical observer present, that Miss Alma

Marston never allowed any situation, no matter how crucial, to take her

attention wholly from herself.

There was no mistaking it--had that cynical observer been there,

he would have noted that she pouted slightly when Mayo declared his

unutterable shame.

"You will never get over that shame, will you?"

And Captain Mayo, feverishly anxious to show that he understood the

enormity of his offense, and desiring to offer pledge for the future,

declared that his shame would never lessen.

Her dark eyes sparkled; whether there was mischief mingled with

resentment, or whether the resentment quite supplanted all other

emotions, might have been a difficult problem for the cynic. But when

she tilted her chin and stared the offender full in the eyes, propping

her plump little hands in the side-pockets of her white reefer,

Captain Mayo, like a man hit by a cudgel, was struck with the sudden

and bewildering knowledge that he did not know much about women, for

she asked, with a quizzical drawl, "Just what is there about me, dear

captain, to inspire that everlasting regret which seems to be troubling

you so much?"




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