Remember, we must tell each other our secrets.”      

       “Never,” he declared with convincing firmness.     

       She surveyed him, showing the satisfaction a gold-seeker would exhibit in appraising a nugget of virgin ore. “But you are so big and fine! And you must have met so many pretty girls!”      

       He was not restive under this quizzing. “I have told you the truth, Miss Marston.”      

       “For shame, big boy! 'Miss Marston,' indeed! I am Alma—Alma to you.       Say it! Say it nicely!”      

       He flushed. He stole a shamefaced glance at the-wheelsman and made a quick and apprehensive survey of the sacred regions aft.     

       “Are you afraid, after all I have said to you?”      

       “No, but it seems—I can hardly believe—”      

       “Say it.”      

       “Alma,” he gulped. “Alma, I love you.”      

       “You need some lessons, big boy. You are so awkward I think you are telling me the truth about the other girls.”      

       He did not dare to ask her whether she had loved any one else. With all the passionate jealousy of his soul he wanted to ask her. She, who was so sure that she could instruct him, must have loved somebody. He tried to comfort himself by the thought that her knowledge arose from the efforts either men had made to win her.     

       “We have our To-day,” she murmured. “Golden hours till the moon comes up—and then perhaps a few silver ones! I don't care what Arthur guesses. My father is too busy talking money with those men to guess. I'm going to be with you all I can. I can arrange it. I'm studying navigation.”      

       She snuggled against the rail, luxuriating in the sunshine.     

       “Who are you?” she asked, bluntly.     

       That question, coming after the pledging of their affection, astonished him like the loom of a ledge in mid-channel.     

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