“It was destruction,” he said.  His own voice sounded odd to him.  “Utter destruction to my peace of mind,” he said again.

“You—­don’t think that you love me, do you?” she asked.  “That would be too—­too perfect a climax.... Do you?” she asked curiously.

“I—­think so.”

“Do—­do you know it?” He gazed bravely at her:  “Yes.”

She flung up both arms joyously, then laughed aloud: 

“Oh, the wonder of it!  It is too perfect, too beautiful!  You really love me?  Do you?  Are you sure?”

“Yes....  Will you try to love me?”

“Well, you know that sirens don’t care for people....  I’ve already been engaged two or three times....  I don’t mind being engaged to you.”

“Couldn’t you care for me, Flavilla?”

“Why, yes.  I do....  Please don’t touch me; I’d rather not.  Of course, you know, I couldn’t really love you so quickly unless I’d been subjected to one of those Destyn-Carr machines.  You know that, don’t you?  But,” she added frankly, “I wouldn’t like to have you get away from me.  I—­I feel like a tender-hearted person in the street who is followed by a lost cat——­”

“What!”

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything unpleasant—­truly I didn’t.  You know how tenderly one feels when a poor stray cat comes trotting after one——­”

He got up, mad all through.

“Are you offended?” she asked sorrowfully.  “When I didn’t mean anything except that my heart—­which is rather impressionable—­feels very warmly and tenderly toward the man who swam after me....  Won’t you understand, please?  Listen, we have been engaged only a minute, and here already is our first quarrel.  You can see for yourself what would happen if we ever married.”

“It wouldn’t be machine-made bliss, anyway,” he said.

That seemed to interest her; she inspected him earnestly.

“Also,” he added, “I thought you desired to take a sportsman’s chances?”

“I—­do.”

“And I thought you didn’t want to marry the man you ought to marry.”

“That is—­true.”

“Then you certainly ought not to marry me—­but, will you?”

“How can I when I don’t—­love you.”

“You don’t love me because you ought not to on such brief acquaintance....  But will you love me, Flavilla?”

She looked at him in silence, sitting very still, the bright hair veiling her cheeks, the fish’s tail curled up against her side.

“Will you?”

“I don’t know,” she said faintly.

“Try.”

“I—­am.”

“Shall I help you?”

Evidently she had gazed at him long enough; her eyes fell; her white fingers picked at the seaweed pods.  His arm closed around her; nothing stirred but her heart.

“Shall I help you to love me?” he breathed.

“No—­I am—­past help.”  She raised her head.