of loss and ruin bears down on you, you're either swept away in an
excitement that hasn't any end, or you brace yourself, and become
master of the shattering thing."

"You are a master," she interposed. "You are the Master Man," she
repeated admiringly.

He waved a hand deprecatingly. "Do you know, when we talked together in
the woods soon after you ran the Rapids--you remember the day--if you had
said that to me then, I'd have cocked my head and thought I was a jim-
dandy, as they say. A Master Man was what I wanted to be. But it's a
pretty barren thing to think, or to feel, that you're a Master Man;
because, if you are--if you've had a 'scoop' all the way, as Jowett calls
it, you can be as sure as anything that no one cares a rap farthing what
happens to you. There are plenty who pretend they care, but it's only
because they're sailing with the wind, and with your even keel. It's
only the Master Man himself that doesn't know in the least he's that who
gets anything out of it all."

"Aren't you getting anything out of it?" she asked softly. "Aren't you
--Chief?"

At the familiar word--Jowett always called him Chief--a smile slowly
stole across his face. "I really believe I am, thanks to you," he said
nodding.

He was going to say, "Thanks to you, Fleda," but he restrained himself.
He had no right to be familiar, to give an intimate turn to things. His
game was over; his journey of ambition was done. He saw this girl with
his mind's eye--how much he longed to see her with the eyes of the body