oo
unmistakable in her sniff of scorn.

"I admit it seems unlikely," said I. "Still, this is a wonderful age.
Who can say what may be gained by the successful pirate!"

"You act one!" commented Aunt Lucinda. "It is brutal. It is
outrageous. It is abominable. No gentleman would be guilty of such
conduct."

"I grant you," said I, but flushed under the thrust. "But I am no
longer a gentleman where that conflicts with the purpose of my piracy.
I come of a family, after all, madam, who often have had their way in
piracy."

"And left a good useful business to go away to idleness! And now
speak of doing large things! With whose money, pray?"

"You are very direct, my dear Mrs. Daniver," said I mildly, "but the
catechism is not yet so far along as that."

"But why did you do this crazy thing?"

"To marry Helena, and with your free consent as her next friend," said
I, swiftly turning to her. "Since I must be equally frank. Please
don't go!" I said to Helena, for now, very pale, she was starting
toward the cabin door. But she paid no heed to me, and passed.

"So now you have it, plainly," said I to Mrs. Daniver.

She turned on me a face full of surprise and anger mingled. "How dare
you, after all that has passed? You left the girl years ago. You have
no business, no fortune, not even the girl's consent. I'll not have
it! I love her." The good woman's lips trembled.

"So do I," said I gently. "That is why we all are here. It is because
of this madness called love. Ah, Mrs. Daniver, if you only knew! If I
could make you know! But surely you do know, you, too, have loved.
Come, may you not love a lover, even one like myself? I'll be good to
Helena. Believe me, she is my one sacred charge in life. I love her.
Not worthy of her, no--but I love her."

"That's too late." But I saw her face relent at what she heard. "I
have other plans. And you should have told her what you have told me."

"Ah, have I not?" But then I suddenly remembered that, by some
reversal of my logical mind, here I was, making love to Auntie
Lucinda, whom I did not love, whereas in the past I had spent much
time in mere arguing with Helena, whom I did love.

"I'm not sure that I've ever made it plain enough to her, that's
true," said I slowly. "But if she gives me the chance, I'll spend all
my life telling her that very thing. That, since you ask me, is why we
all are here--so that I may tell Helena, and you, and all the world,
that very thing. I lo