Luke turned on his heel and greeted Mrs. Harrington with quite a
pleasant smile, which did not belong to her by rights, but to the
girl behind him.

Fitz had been away for two years. Mrs. Harrington in making
overtures of peace to Luke had been prompted by the one consistent
motive of her life, self-gratification. She was tired of the
obsequious society of persons like the Ingham-Bakers, whom she
mentally set down as parasites. There is a weariness of the flesh
that comes to rich women uncontrolled. They weary of their own
power. Tyranny palls. Mrs. Harrington was longing to be thwarted
by some one stronger than herself. The FitzHenrys even in their
boyhood had, by their sturdy independence, their simple, seamanlike
self-assertion, touched some chord in this lone woman's heart which
would not vibrate to cringing fingers.

She had sent for Luke because Fitz was away. She wanted to be
thwarted. She would have liked to be bullied. And also there was
that subtle longing for the voice, the free gesture, the hearty
manliness of one whose home is on the sea.

As Luke turned to greet her with the rare smile on his face he was
marvellously like Fitz. He was well dressed. There was not the
slightest doubt that this was a gentleman. Nay, more, he looked
distinguished. And above all, he carried himself like a sailor. So
the reconciliation was sudden and therefore complete. A
reconciliation to be complete must be sudden. It is too delicate a
thing to bear handling.

Luke had come intending to curse. He began to feel like staying to