“But you were right,” he said, “good and right, too.  You hurt my man’s vanity, and I got nasty—­sarcastic, you know.  I’ve got you to thank forever for bringing myself right home to me—­showing me to myself.  I was a morbid, love-sick boy, who indulged in so much self-pity that he thought he was a very fine romantic figure, running off from his responsibilities and burying himself in the ends of the earth.”

“I was jealous, too, of that girl you quit things for, that girl that was like violets and white roses.  I ain’t like ’em.”

“Jealous!  You!  It wasn’t long that I remembered her, but you were right again—­I liked that life.  I’d got used to it.  The other kind seemed impossible to me—­I’ve been a quitter and a shirker—­just what you called me—­but I’m going back home to take it all up again, or if you would rather, I’ll stay here and work mines in these mountains, or help reclaim the desert—­if you’ll marry me, Pearl.”

“But I’m the Black Pearl—­a dancer.  I don’t see how I can begin to be anything else now; but I will, I’ll be anything you ask me, Harry,” throwing her arms about his neck, “I will.”

He laughed and held her closer still.  “I’ll never ask you to be anything else.  ‘The Black Pearl—­a dancer,’ that’s enough for me.  You shall have all the joy of your gift—­its expression.  I’m not such a selfish animal as to ask you to give that up, so that I can keep you—­you beautiful, tropical bird—­in a cage, just to gratify my sense of possession—­and watch you mope and pine, because I’ve kept you from your flights.  No, sweetheart, you shall dance, and have your big audiences that inspire you, and the applause you love ... and then you’ll come back to me, and I’ll be waiting for you and working—­always working.  I promise you that, Pearl.  But,” fixing determined eyes on her, “I’ll not dangle around after you, and patch up your rows with your managers, and engage your maids, nor be known as the Black Pearl’s husband, by the Lord, no!  I’ll do my own work in the world, and stand and fall by my own merit, if there’s any in me.  But kiss me, Pearl, kiss me.”

“Then it’s the last kiss till to-morrow,” she smiled, “for it’s past midnight now.”

The morning dawned, a blare of sunlight.  Pearl, glancing from the window just before they ate their early breakfast, could see that bridge was in place.  Both she and Harry were quiet.  It was the last meal together in the cabin, and more than once tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she made a pretense of eating.  “They’re happy tears, Harry, honest, they are,” she assured him.  “I guess I’m kind of locoed at the thought of seeing Pop and Bob and Hughie again.  Come on, let’s hurry down now and meet them.”  She stood up and drained her coffee cup and then threw her cape about her.  “Come on.”  She held out her hand to him and smiled.

CHAPTER XV