“Don’t be angry with me, Frank,” she pleaded.  “It had to be said, you know.  I wanted you so much to come; I wanted to share my beautiful vessel with you; and yet I dreaded any kind of a false position.”

“I shall treat you precisely as I would any owner of any ship I sailed on,” he said.  “That is, with respect and always preserving my distance.  I will never address you first except to say good-morning and good-evening, and will show no concern if you do not speak to me for days on end.”

“Oh, Frank, you are an angel!” she cried.

“No,” he returned, “only—­as far as I can—­a gentleman, Miss Fenacre.”

“We needn’t begin now, Frank,” she exclaimed, almost with annoyance.

“Am I in your service?” he asked.

“From to-day,” she answered, “and I will give you a note to Captain Landry.”

“Then you will be Miss Fenacre to me from now on,” he said.

“You must say good-bye to Florence first,” she said, smiling.  “You may kiss my hand,” she said, as she gave it to him.  “You used to do it so gallantly in the old days—­such a Spaniard that you are, Frank—­and I liked it so much!”

He did so, and for the first time in his life with a kind of shame.

“I hope we are not both of us making a terrible mistake, Florence,” he said.

“Oh, I couldn’t want a better chief!” she said, “and, as for you, it’s the wisest thing you ever did.  It’s me, after all, who is making the sacrifice, for, in a month or two, all the gilt will wear off, and you will see me as I really am.  You will find it very disillusioning to go to sea with your divinity,” she added.  “You will discover she is a very flesh-and-blood affair, after all, Frank, and not worth the tip of your little finger.”

“I had a good many opportunities of judging before,” he replied, “and the more I knew her the more I loved her.”

“Well, I am changed now,” she said.  “I suppose all the bad has come to the surface since—­like the slag when they melt iron and skim it off with dippers—­only with me there’s nobody to dip.  If I am astounded at the difference, what do you suppose you’ll be?”

“There never could be any difference to me,” he said.

“That’s the only kind of love worth talking about,” she said, going to the window and looking out.

For a while neither of them spoke.  Frank rose and stood with his hat in his hand, waiting to take his departure.  Florence turned, and going to an escritoire sat down and wrote a few lines on a card.

“Present this to Captain Landry,” she said, “and, now, my dear chief engineer, I will give you your conge.”

He thanked her, and put the card carefully in his pocketbook.

“What a farce it all is, Frank!” she broke out.  “There’s something wrong in a system that gives a girl millions of dollars to do just as she likes with.  I don’t care what they say to the contrary; I believe women were meant to belong to men, to live in semi-slavery and do what they are told, to bring up children and travel with the pots and pans, and find their only reward in pleasing their husbands.”