“Well—­perhaps!” she said.

“Perhaps?” he echoed, with a smile, then added, teasingly, “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid?—­I dare anything—­to-night!”

“Then come!”

“I will—­if I feel like this when the time comes.  But,” and she gave him a tantalizing glance from under her long lashes, “don’t expect me!”

Paul tried to look disappointed, but he felt sure that she would come.

And she did!  But not till he had given up all hope, and was pacing the deck in an agony of impatience.  He had felt so certain that he knew his beloved!  She came, swiftly, silently, almost before he was aware.

“Well, ...  I’m here,” she said.

“I see you are, Opal and—­thank you.”

He extended his hand, but she clasped hers behind her back and looked at him defiantly.  Truly she was in a most perverse mood!

“Aren’t we haughty!” he laughed.

“No, I’m not; I am—­angry!”

“With me?”

“No!—­not you.”

“Whom, then?”

“With—­myself!” And she stamped her tiny foot imperiously.

Paul was delighted.  “Poor child,” he said.  “What have you done that you are so sorry?”

“I’m not sorry!  That’s why I’m angry!  If I were only a bit sorry, I’d have some self-respect!”

Paul looked at her deliberately, taking in every little detail of her appearance, his eyes full of admiration.  Then he added, with an air of finality, “But I respect you!”

She softened, and laid her hand on his arm.  Paul instantly took possession of it.

“Do you really?” she asked, searching his face, almost wistfully.  “A girl who will do ...what I am doing to-night!”

“But what are you doing, Opal?” he asked in the most innocent surprise.  “Merely keeping a wakeful man company beneath the stars!”

“Is that ...all?”

“All ..._now!_”

They stood silently for a minute, hand still in hand, looking far out over the moonlit waters, each conscious of the trend of the other’s thoughts—­the beating of the other’s heart.  The deck was deserted by all save their two selves—­they two alone in the big starlit universe.  At last she spoke.

“This is interesting, isn’t it?”

“Of course!—­holding your hand!”

She snatched it from him.  “I forgot you had it,” she said.

“Forget again!”

“No, I won’t!...  Is it always interesting?... holding a girl’s hand?”

“It depends upon the girl, I suppose!  I was enjoying it immensely just then.”

He took her hand again.

And again that perilously sweet silence fell between them.

At last, “Promise me, Paul!” she said.

“I will—­what is it?”

“Promise me to forget anything I may say or do to-night ... not to think hard of me, however rashly I may act!  I’m not accountable, really!  I’m liable to say ...anything!  I feel it in my blood!”