eyes looked deeply into hers, and they held no passion. They were still
and quiet as the summer sea below them.

Columbine stood facing him as if at bay, but she must have felt the
influence of his restraint, for she showed no fear. "There's no such
thing as love," she said bitterly. "You dress it up and call it that.
But all the time it's something quite different. And I tell you
this"--recklessly she flung the words--"that if it hadn't been for that
tidal wave I'd be just what you took me for that night, what Aunt Liza
thinks I am this minute. I wasn't keeping back--anything, and"--she
uttered a sudden wild laugh--"if I've kept my virtue, I've lost my
innocence. I know--I know now--just what the thing you call love is
worth! And nothing will ever make me forget it!"

She stopped, quivering from head to foot, passionate protest in every
line.

But the blue eyes that watched her never wavered. The man's face was
rock-like in its steadfast calm. He did not speak for a full minute
after the utterance of her wild words. Then very steadily, very
forcibly, he answered her. "I'll tell you, shall I, what the thing I
call love is like?" He turned with a sweep of the arm and pointed out to
the harbour beyond the quay. "It's just like that. It's a wall to keep
off the storms. It's a safe haven where nothing hurtful can reach you.
You're not bound to give yourself to it, but once given you're safe."

"Not bound!" Sharply she broke in upon him. "Not bound--when you made me
promise--"

He dropped his arm to his side. "I set you free from that promise," he