The captain’s face gathered intelligence as he listened.  He knew her secret now.  For a moment he felt a wrench of pity for her.  But love, with the captain, had been a sentimental fever ending in a cold ague:  he had experienced light heats and chills of it many a time since.  This wild fancy of the girl’s would speedily burn itself out if judiciously damped.  He would at once take the matter in hand.

“Neckart,” he said deliberately, eying her to gauge the effect of his words, “is a man of sense and knowledge of the world.  He knows his condition, and in the little time left to him he attends to his business and important political affairs, instead of nursing a romantic friendship which cannot serve him, and would only compromise you.”

“Compromise me?  I don’t understand you, father.”

“A woman could not render such service as you offer except to her betrothed lover or husband.”

“Why, he would understand.”

“But Society, child—­”

“Oh, Society!” with a laugh.  “But you do not remember!” clasping her hands on his shoulder.  “If this thing comes upon him—­he has looked forward to it all his life—­he has nobody.  He is quite alone.”

“At least,” impatiently, “you will not be involved.  I did not understand before why Bruce had deserted us lately.  I see now that he has acted very properly.  It was not his fault nor yours—­this flirtation—­preference—­or whatever you may choose to call it.  But Bruce knows the world, and knows just how long-lived such fancies are, and he intends that it shall be no hinderance to your marriage—­making an excellent match.”

“I marry?  Make an excellent match?”

“Yes.  Certainly.  What else should you do?  Don’t look in that way, my darling.  It frightens me.  I’m not strong.  It is not death that is coming to you, but a good husband.  You need not turn so white.”

“And Mr. Neckart planned this for me?”

“N-no.  I can’t say ‘planned,’ to be accurate.  But he agreed in our plan.  Why, Bruce has common sense.  He knows it is the way of the world that a woman should marry, and he will be much happier to know that you are the wife of a good man—­good and good-looking too.  Much more presentable than Bruce, poor fellow!”

The captain watched her closely as he gave this home-thrust.  How a woman could turn from that magnificent, devout reformer to any lean, irascible politician!  Her foot was on the edge of the little skiff.  She pushed it into the water.  While he sat in the boat there that night, with the moonlight white about them, while he told her that he loved her, he had been planning this good match for her!  There was no such thing as love, then, in the world?  Or truth?  But there was Society and common sense and the inexorable rules of propriety.  Bruce Neckart represented to her Strength itself, and he submitted to these rules cheerfully.  He was happy to think of her as the wife of a good, presentable man!