nature might always triumph. But Opal had never been especially
conscious of a soul--scarcely of a body. She had not yet found herself.

Paul's emotions were in such chaotic rebellion that the thunder of his
heart-beats mingled with the pulse hammering through his brain and made
him for the first time in his life curiously deaf to his own thoughts.

As she met his eye, expressing more than he realized of the storm
within, her own fell with a sudden sense of apprehension. She rose and
looked far out over the restless waves with a sudden flush on her
dimpled cheek, a subtle excitement in her rapid words.

"As for our men, Paul, they are only human beings, but mighty with that
strength of physique and perfect development of mind that makes for
power. They are men of dauntless purpose. They are men of pure thoughts
and lofty ideals. They know what they want and bend every ambition and
energy to its attainment. Of course I speak of the average American--the
_type_! The normal American is a born fighter. Yes, that is the key-note
of American supremacy! We never give up! never! In my country, what men
want, they get!"

She raised her hand in a quaint, expressive gesture, and the loose
sleeve fell back, leaving her white arm bare. He sprang to his feet, his
eyes glowing.

"And in my country, what men want, they _take_!" he responded
fiercely--almost brutally and without a second's warning Paul threw his
arms about her and crushed her against his breast. He pressed his lips
mercilessly upon her own, holding them in a kiss that seemed to Opal
would never end.