Aleck had been more crafty than he knew when he carried Melanie and Madame Reynier off on the Sea Gull.  Almost at the last moment Mr. Chamberlain had joined them, Aleck’s liking for the man and his instinct of hospitality overcoming his desire for something as near as possible to a solitude a deux with Melanie.

They could not have had a better companion.  Mr. Chamberlain was nothing less than perfect in his position as companion and guest.  He enjoyed Madame Reynier’s grand duchess manners, and spared himself no trouble to entertain both Madame Reynier and Melanie.  He was a hearty admirer, if not a suitor, of the younger woman; but certain it was, that, if he ever had entertained personal hopes in regard to her, he buried them in the depths of his heart by the end of their first day on the Sea Gull.  He understood Aleck’s position with regard to Melanie without being told, and instantly brought all his loyalty and courtesy into his friend’s service.

Madame Reynier had an interest in seeing the smaller towns and cities of America; “something besides the show places,” she said.  So they made visits ashore here and there, though not many.  As they grew to feel more at home on the yacht, the more reluctant they were to spend their time on land.  Why have dust and noise and elbowing people, when they might be cutting through the blue waters with the wind fresh in their faces?  The weather was perfect; the thrall of the sea was upon them.

The roses came into Melanie’s cheeks, and she forgot all about the professional advice which she had been at such pains to procure in New York.  There was happiness in her eyes when she looked on her lover, even though she had repulsed him.  As for Mr. Chamberlain, he breathed the very air of content.  Madame Reynier, with her inscrutable grand manner, confessed that she had never before been able precisely to locate Boston, and now that she had seen it, she felt much better.  Even Aleck’s lean bulk seemed to expand and flourish in the atmosphere of happiness about him.  His sudden venture was a success, beyond a doubt.  The party had many merry hours, many others full of a quiet pleasure, none that were heavy or uneasy.

If Aleck’s outer man prospered in this unexpected excursion, it can only be said that his spiritual self flowered with a new and hitherto unknown beauty.  It was a late flowering, possibly—­though what are thirty-four years to Infinity?—­but there was in it a richness and delicacy which was its own distinction and won its own reward.

Melanie’s words, spoken in their long interview in the New York home, had contained an element of truth.  There was a poignant sincerity in her saying, “You do not love me enough,” which touched Aleck to the center of his being.  He was not niggardly by nature; and had he given stintingly of his affection to this woman who was to him the best?  His whole nature shrank from such a role, even while he dimly perceived that he had been guilty of acting it.  If he had been small in his gift of love, it was because he had been the dupe of his theories; he had forsworn gallantry toward women, and had unwittingly cast aside warmth of affection also.