She raised her eyebrows, but was silent.

“Somehow,” he went on after a moment, “I could never associate a woman with destructiveness, with wars and with violence.”

“That is an unjust way of saying it,” she interposed.  And then, musingly:  “Isn’t it odd that you and I—­standing here by the rail—­have, in a way, held the destinies of the whole great earth in our hands?  And now your remark makes me feel that you alone have stood for peace and the general good, and I for destruction and evil.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Mr. Grimm said quickly.  “You have done your duty as you saw it, and—­”

“Failed!” she interrupted.

“And I have done my duty as I saw it.”

“And won!” she added.  She smiled a little sadly.  “I think, perhaps you and I might have been excellent friends if it had not been for all this.”

“I know we should have,” said Mr. Grimm, almost eagerly.  “I wonder if you will ever forgive me for—­for—?”

“Forgive you?” she repeated.  “There is nothing to forgive.  One must do one’s duty.  But I wish it could have been otherwise.”

The Statue of Liberty slid by, and Governor’s Island and Fort Hamilton; then, in the distance, Sandy Hook light came into view.

“I’m going to leave you here,” said Mr. Grimm, and for the first time there was a tense, strained note in his voice.

Miss Thorne’s blue-gray eyes had grown mistily thoughtful; the words startled her a little and she turned to face him.

“It may be that you and I shall never meet again,” Mr. Grimm went on.

“We will meet again,” she said gravely.  “When and where I don’t know, but it will come.”

“And perhaps then we may be friends?” He was pleading now.

“Why, we are friends now, aren’t we?” she asked, and again the smile curled her scarlet lips.  “Surely we are friends, aren’t we?”

“We are,” he declared positively.

As they started forward a revenue cutter which had been hovering about Sandy Hook put toward them, flying some signal at her masthead.  Slowly the great boat on which they stood crept along, then the clang of a bell in the engine-room brought her to a standstill, and the revenue cutter came alongside.

“I leave you here,” Mr. Grimm said again.  “It’s good-by.”

“Good-by,” she said softly.  “Good-by, till we meet once more.”

She extended both hands impulsively and he stood for an instant staring into the limpid gray eyes, then, turning, went below.  From the revenue cutter he waved a hand at her as the great Lusitania, moving again, sped on her way.  The prince joined Miss Thorne at the rail.  The scowl was still on his face.

“And now what?” he demanded abruptly.  “This man has treated us as if we were a pair of children.”

“He’s a wonderful man,” she replied.

“That may be—­but we have been fools to allow him to do all this.”