an idea that there was an instinct that might be depended on.'

'I am depending on it,' I said, and let my eyes follow the little
blue waves that chased past the hand-rail. 'We are making very good
speed, aren't we? Thirty-five knots since last night at ten. Are
you in the sweep?'

'I never bet on the way out--can't afford it. Am I old-fashioned?'
he insisted.

'Probably. Men are very slow in changing their philosophy about
women. I fancy their idea of the maternal relation is firmest fixed
of all.'

'We see it a beatitude!' he cried.

'I know,' I said wearily, 'and you never modify the view.'

Dacres contemplated the portion of the deck that lay between us.
His eyes were discreetly lowered, but I saw embarrassment and
speculation and a hint of criticism in them.

'Tell me more about it,' said he.

'Oh, for heaven's sake don't be sympathetic!' I exclaimed. 'Lend me
a little philosophy instead. There is nothing to tell. There she
is and there I am, in the most intimate relation in the world,
constituted when she is twenty-one and I am forty.' Dacres started
slightly at the ominous word; so little do men realize that the
women they like can ever pass out of the constated years of