"Rather," she suggested, "let us frankly admit that you are the superior
in both."

He was sitting at the table, his elbows upon it, and now he covered his
face with his hands, half in real, half in mock, despair:

"What can I do or say?" he groaned. "What have I done that you will not
answer the honest meaning you can understand in spite of my clumsy
words?"

Then he had to look at her because she did not answer, and when he saw
that she was still ready to laugh, he laughed, too.

"Have you never ceased to despise me because I could not swim? I can
swim now, I assure you. I have studied the art. I could even show you a
prize that I took in a race, if that would win your respect."

"I am glad you took the prize."

"I have not yet learned the magic with which mermaids move."

"No, and you have not heard any excuse for the boldness of that play
yet. And I was almost the cause of your death. Ah! how frightened I was
that night--of you and for you! And again when I went to see Mr.
Pembroke before the snow came, and the storm came on and I was obliged
to travel with you in O'Shea's great-coat--that again cannot seem nice
to you when you think of it. Why do you like what appears so strange?
You came here to do a noble work, and you have done it nobly. Why not go
home now, and be rid of such a suspicious character as I have shown
myself to be? Wherever you go, our prayers and our blessings will follow
you."

Caius looked down at the common deal board. There were dents and marks
upon it that spoke of constant household work. At length he said:

"There is one reason for going that would seem to me enough: if you will
tell me that you neither want nor need my companionship or help in any
way; but if you cannot tell me that----"

"Want," she said very sadly. "Ah, do you think I have no heart, no mind
that likes to talk its thoughts, no sympathies? I think that if
_anyone_--man, woman, or child--were to come to me from out the big
world, where people have such thoughts and feelings as I have, and offer
to talk to me, I could not do anything else than desire their
companionship. Do you think that I am hard-hearted? I am so lonely that
the affection even of a dog or a bird would be a temptation to me, if it
was a thing that I dared not accept, because it would make me weaker to
live the life that is right. That is the way we must tell what is right
or wrong."

In spite of himself, he gathered comfort from the fact that,