regret that events had necessitated this sudden return home together on the same ship.  He was sorry for Judge Rossmore, of course, and there was nothing he would not do on his return to secure a withdrawal of the charges.  That his father would use his influence he had no doubt.  But meantime he was selfish enough to be glad for the opportunity it gave him to be a whole week alone with Shirley.  No matter how much one may be with people in city or country or even when stopping at the same hotel or house, there is no place in the world where two persons, especially when they are of the opposite sex, can become so intimate as on shipboard.  The reason is obvious.  The days are long and monotonous.  There is nowhere to go, nothing to see but the ocean, nothing to do but read, talk or promenade.  Seclusion in one’s stuffy cabin is out of the question, the public sitting rooms are noisy and impossible, only a steamer chair on deck is comfortable and once there snugly wrapped up in a rug it is surprising how quickly another chair makes its appearance alongside and how welcome one is apt to make the intruder.

Thus events combined with the weather conspired to bring Shirley and Jefferson more closely together.  The sea had been rough ever since they sailed, keeping Mrs. Blake confined to her stateroom almost continuously.  They were, therefore, constantly in one another’s company, and slowly, unconsciously, there was taking root in their hearts the germ of the only real and lasting love—­ the love born of something higher than mere physical attraction, the nobler, more enduring affection that is born of mutual sympathy, association and companionship.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” exclaimed Shirley ecstatically.  “Look at those great waves out there!  See how majestically they soar and how gracefully they fall!”

“Glorious!” assented Jefferson sharing her enthusiasm.  “There’s nothing to compare with it.  It’s Nature’s grandest spectacle.  The ocean is the only place on earth that man has not defiled and spoiled.  Those waves are the same now as they were on the day of creation.”

“Not the day of creation.  You mean during the aeons of time creation was evolving,” corrected Shirley.

“I meant that of course,” assented Jefferson.  “When one says ‘day’ that is only a form of speech.”

“Why not be accurate?” persisted Shirley.  “It was the use of that little word ‘day’ which has given the theologians so many sleepless nights.”

There was a roguish twinkle in her eye.  She well knew that he thought as she did on metaphysical questions, but she could not resist teasing him.