“Tell me about this Captain Duane,” she began.  “Where is he now?”

Bennett yawned and passed his hand across his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What time is it?  I must have slept over an hour.  Duane?  Why, you saw what the paper said.  I presume he is at Tasiusak.”

“Do you think he will succeed?  Do you think he will reach the Pole?  Adler thinks he won’t.”

“Oh, perhaps, if he has luck and an open season.”

“But tell me, why does he take so many men?  Isn’t that contrary to the custom?  I know a great deal about arctic work.  While you were away I read every book I could get upon the subject.  The best work has been done with small expeditions.  If you should go again—­when you go again, will you take so many?  I saw you quoted somewhere as being in favour of only six or eight men.”

“Ten should be the limit—­but some one else will make the attempt now.  I’m out of it.  I tried and failed.”

“Failed—­you!  The idea of you ever failing, of you ever giving up!  Of course it was all very well to joke this morning about giving up your career; but I know you will be up and away again only too soon.  I am trying to school myself to expect that.”

“Lloyd, I tell you that I am out of it.  I don’t believe the Pole ever can be reached, and I don’t much care whether it is reached or not.”

Suddenly Lloyd turned to him, the unwonted light flashing in her eyes. “I do, though,” she cried vehemently.  “It can be done, and we—­America—­ought to do it.”

Bennett stared at her, startled by her outburst.

“This English expedition,” Lloyd continued, the colour flushing in her cheeks, “this Duane-Parsons expedition, they will have the start of everybody next year.  Nearly every attempt that is made now establishes a new record for a high latitude.  One nation after another is creeping nearer and nearer almost every year, and each expedition is profiting by the experiences and observations made by the one that preceded it.  Some day, and not very long now, some nation is going to succeed and plant its flag there at last.  Why should it not be us?  Why shouldn’t our flag be first at the Pole?  We who have had so many heroes, such great sailors, such splendid leaders, such explorers—­our Stanleys, our Farraguts, our Decaturs, our De Longs, our Lockwoods—­how we would stand ashamed before the world if some other nation should succeed where we have all but succeeded—­Norway, or France, or Russia, or England—­profiting by our experiences, following where we have made the way!”

“That is very fine,” admitted Bennett.  “It would be a great honour, the greatest perhaps; and once—­I—­well, I had my ambitions, too.  But it’s all different now.  Something in me died when—­Dick—­when—­I—­oh, let Duane try.  Let him do his best.  I know it can’t be done, and if he should win, I would be the first to wire congratulations.  Lloyd, I don’t care.  I’ve lost interest.  I suppose it is my punishment.  I’m out of the race.  I’m a back number.  I’m down.”