I drew back from the table with a laugh, and stood smiling at
Beatrice, but she shook her head, even though she smiled, too.

"Oh, not that," she said.

"My dear Beatrice," I expostulated, "it certainly isn't right that
American interests in--what's the name of the place--in Honduras,
should be jeopardized, is it? And by an ignorant half-breed like this
President What's-his-name? Certainly not. It must be stopped, even if
we have to requisition every steamer the Isthmian Line has afloat."

"Oh, Royal," Beatrice cried, "you are not serious. No, you wouldn't,
you couldn't be so foolish. That's no affair of yours. That's not your
country. Besides, that is not war; it is speculation. You are a
gentleman, not a pirate and a filibuster."

"William Walker was a filibuster," I answered. "He took Nicaragua with
200 men and held it for two years against 20,000. I must begin
somewhere," I cried, "why not there? A girl can't understand these
things--at least, some girls can't--but I would have thought you
would. What does it matter what I do or where I go?" I broke out,
bitterly. "I have made a failure of my life at the very start. I am
sick and sore and desperate. I don't care where I go or what---"

I would have ranted on for some time, no doubt, but that a look from
Beatrice stopped me in mid-air, and I stood silent, feeling somewhat
foolish.

"I can understand this much," she said, "that you are a foolish boy.