Hermann had not.  He had given hints only; and of course it had not taken very much to alarm Falk; but, instead of declaring himself, he had taken steps to remove the family from under my influence.  He was perfectly straightforward about it—­as straightforward as a tile falling on your head.  There was no duplicity in that man; and when I congratulated him on the perfection of his arrangements—­even to the bribing of the wretched Johnson against me—­he had a genuine movement of protest.  Never bribed.  He knew the man wouldn’t work as long as he had a few cents in his pocket to get drunk on, and, naturally (he said-"naturally”) he let him have a dollar or two.  He was himself a sailor, he said, and anticipated the view another sailor, like myself, was bound to take.  On the other hand, he was sure that I should have to come to grief.  He hadn’t been knocking about for the last seven years up and down that river for nothing.  It would have been no disgrace to me—­but he asserted confidently I would have had my ship very awkwardly ashore at a spot two miles below the Great Pagoda. . . .

And with all that he had no ill-will.  That was evident.  This was a crisis in which his only object had been to gain time—­I fancy.  And presently he mentioned that he had written for some jewellery, real good jewellery—­had written to Hong-Kong for it.  It would arrive in a day or two.

“Well, then,” I said cheerily, “everything is all right.  All you’ve got to do is to present it to the lady together with your heart, and live happy ever after.”

Upon the whole he seemed to accept that view as far as the girl was concerned, but his eyelids drooped.  There was still something in the way.  For one thing Hermann disliked him so much.  As to me, on the contrary, it seemed as though he could not praise me enough.  Mrs. Hermann too.  He didn’t know why they disliked him so.  It made everything most difficult.

I listened impassive, feeling more and more diplomatic.  His speech was not transparently clear.  He was one of those men who seem to live, feel, suffer in a sort of mental twilight.  But as to being fascinated by the girl and possessed by the desire of home life with her—­it was as clear as daylight.  So much being at stake, he was afraid of putting it to the hazard of declaration.  Besides, there was something else.  And with Hermann being so set against him . . .

“I see,” I said thoughtfully, while my heart beat fast with the excitement of my diplomacy.  “I don’t mind sounding Hermann.  In fact, to show you how mistaken you were, I am ready to do all I can for you in that way.”

A light sigh escaped him.  He drew his hands down his face, and it emerged, bony, unchanged of expression, as if all the tissues had been ossified.  All the passion was in those big brown hands.  He was satisfied.  Then there was that other matter.  If there were anybody on earth it was I who could persuade Hermann to take a reasonable view!  I had a knowledge of the world and lots of experience.  Hermann admitted this himself.  And then I was a sailor too.  Falk thought that a sailor would be able to understand certain things best. . . .