Faircloth lifted his head and looked at her, his face keen, brilliant with a far from ignoble emotion.

“It is not, and never will be possible—­so I fancy”—­he said, “to care too much about you.”

And he fell into contemplation of the glowing logs again.

But Damaris, seeing his transfigured countenance, hearing his rejoinder, penetrated, moreover, by the conviction of his entire sincerity, felt the weight of a certain golden crown more than ever heavy upon her devoted young head.  She stepped aside, groping with outstretched hands behind her until she found and held on to the arm of the big sofa stationed at right angles to the hearth.  And she waited, morally taking breath, to slip presently on to the wide low seat of it and lean thankfully against its solidly cushioned back for support.

“Neither for you, or for my ship”—­Faircloth went on, speaking, as it seemed, more to himself than to his now pale companion.  “I dare couple you and her together, though she is no longer in the dew of her youth.  Oh!  I can’t defend her looks, poor dear.  She has seen service.  Is only a battered, travel-weary old couple-of-thousand-ton cargo boat, which has hugged and nuzzled the foul-smelling quays of half the seaports of southern Europe and Asia.  All the same—­next to you—­she’s the best and finest thing life, up to now, has brought me, and I love her.—­My affection for her, though,” he went on, “is safe to be transitory.  She is safe to have rivals and successors in plenty—­unless, of course, by some ugly turn of luck, she and I go to the bottom in company.”

Faircloth broke off.  A little sound, a little gesture of protest and distress, making him straighten himself up and turn quickly, his eyes alight with enquiry and laughter.

“May I take that to mean I’m not quite alone in my caring,” he asked; “but that you, Damaris, care, perhaps, just a trifling amount too?”

He went across to the sofa, sat down sideways, laying his right arm along the back of it, and placing his left hand—­inscribed with the fanciful device—­over the girl’s two hands clasped in her lap.  The strong, lean fingers exercised a quiet, steady pressure, for a minute.  After which he leaned back, no longer attempting to touch her, studiously indeed keeping his distance, while he said: 

“The other affection is stable for ever—­safe from all rivals or successors.  That is another reason why I jumped at the chance Sir Charles’s letter gave me of coming here to-day, and seeing you, with this room—­as I hoped—­in which so much of your time must be spent, for background.  I wanted to stamp a picture of you upon my memory, burn it right into the very tissue of my brain, so that I shall always have it with me, wherever I go, and however rarely we meet.—­Because, as I see it, we shall rarely meet.  We ought to be clear on that point—­leave no frayed edges.  There is a bar between us, which for the sake of others, as well as for your sake, it is only right and decent I should respect, a wall of partition through which I shouldn’t attempt to break.”