Mélanie looked up, startled. "The _Jeanne D'Arc_, was it?" she cried.
"Are you sure? But, of course--there must be many boats by that name,
are there not? But did he say nothing more--where he was going, and
why he changed his plans?"

"No, not a word more than that. Why? Do you know of a boat named the
_Jeanne D'Arc_?"

"Yes, very well; but it can not matter. It must be another vessel,
surely. Meanwhile, what are you going to do without your companion?"

Aleck rose from the slender gilt chair where, as usual, he had perched
himself, walked to the window and thrust his hands into his pockets for
a contemplative moment, then he turned and came to a stand squarely
before Mélanie, looking down on her with his quizzical, honest eyes.

"That depends, Mélanie," he said slowly, "upon whether you are going to
marry me or not."

[Illustration: "That depends upon whether you are going to marry me."]

For a second or two Mélanie's eyes refused to lift; but Aleck's
firm-planted figure, his steady gaze, above all, his dominating will,
forced her to look up. There he was, smiling, strong, big, kindly.
Mélanie started to smile, but for the second time that morning her eyes
unexpectedly filled with tears.

"I can't talk to you towering over me like that," she said at last
softly, her smile winning against the tears.