ed from his chair in the agony of justification.

"I never meant it, Gertie," he declared. "It just happened, I don't know
how. I'll leave it to you; I'll leave it to anybody, if--"

For the first time his wife noticed his presence.

"Leave it to anybody!" she repeated wildly. "You'll leave it to anybody!
I wish you would! I wish you could hear what people think of it. Why,
Cousin Percy said--"

For the second time since lunch the captain forgot to be prudent.

"Cousin Percy said!" he shouted. "He said! Do you mean to say you told
him--THAT? What business was it of his, I'd like to know? What did he
say? If he says it to me, I'll--I'll--"

Gertrude motioned him to stop.

"There! there!" she commanded. "Daddy, be quiet. Mother, you're tired
out. You must go to bed. I'll go up with you, and we can talk while you
are getting ready. Daddy will wait here. Come, Mother, come."

She led the sobbing Serena from the room. Captain Dan, his feelings
divided between deep contrition at his own behavior and anger at Mr.
Hungerford's interference in the affairs of himself and wife, obeyed
orders and remained where he was.

It was a long wait. He smoked a cigar half through, lighting it three
times in the process. When it went out for the fourth time he dashed the
stump into the fireplace and took to pacing up and down the room. This
reminded him of other days, days when he had paced the deck of his
three-master, counting the hours which separated him from his wife
and his home. He thought of the welcome he had always received when he
reached that home. Oh, why--WHY had he ever retired from the sea? That
was where he belonged; he was of some use in the world there. With a
groan he stopped pacing and went out into the hall to listen for sounds
from above. He heard the low murmurs of voices, the voices of his wife
and daughter, but he could not distinguish words. Back he went to the
library and lit another cigar. These cigars cost three times what his
old Trumet brand had cost, but he got not a hundredth of the enjoyment
from them.

Twelve o'clock struck before Gertrude re-entered the library. She
entered quietly and, walking over to her father's chair, laid a hand on
his shoulder. He looked up at her in mute appeal.

"It's all right, Daddy," she said. "You can go up now."

"But--but she--is she--"

"She has forgiven you, I think. You must be very kind to her."

"Kind to her? Kind! Why, Gertie, I never meant to be anythin