. That is your reward. I wonder if you
remember any of the nice things you say to me? Oh, don't look so hurt
and astonished--because I don't believe you do. . . . Isn't it jolly to
sit here and let life drift past us? Out there in the world"--she nodded
backward toward the open--"out yonder all that 'progress' is whirling
around the world, and here we sit--just you and I--quite happily,
swinging our feet in perfect content and talking nonsense. . . . What
more is there after all than a companionship that admits both sense and
nonsense?"

She laughed, turning her chin on her shoulder to glance at him; and when
the laugh had died out she still sat lightly poised, chin nestling in
the hollow of her shoulder, considering him out of friendly beautiful
eyes in which no mockery remained.

"What more is there than our confidence in each other and our content?"
she said.

And, as he did not respond: "I wonder if you realise how perfectly
lovely you have been to me since you have come into my life? Do you? Do
you remember the first day--the very first--how I sent word to you that
I wished you to see my first real dinner gown? Smile if you wish--Ah,
but you don't, you _don't_ understand, my poor friend, how much you
became to me in that little interview. . . . Men's kindness is a strange
thing; they may try and try, and a girl may know they are trying and, in
her turn, try to be grateful. But it is all effort on both sides.
Then--with a word--an impulse born of chance or instinct--a man may say
and do that which a woman can never forget--and would not if she could."

"Have I done--that?"

"Yes. Didn't you understand? Do you suppose any other man in the world
could have what you have had of me--of my real self? Do you suppose for
one instant that any other man than you could ever obtain from me the
confidence I offer you unasked? Do I not tell you everything that enters
my head and heart? Do you not know that I care for you more than for
anybody alive?"

"Gerald--"

She looked him straight in the eyes; her breath caught, but she steadied
her voice:

"I've got to be truthful," she said; "I care for you more than for
Gerald."

"And I for you more than anybody living," he said.

"Is it true?"

"It is the truth, Eileen."

"You--you make me very happy, Captain Selwyn."

"But--did you not know it before I told you?"

"I--y-yes; I hoped so." In the exultant reaction from the delicious
tension of avowal she laughed ligh