"There was the Door to which I found no Key;
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was--and then no more of Thee and Me."

The sailor, too, wrestled with the great problem. He may be pardoned if
his heart quailed and he groaned aloud.

"Iris," he said solemnly, "whatever happens, unless I am struck dead at
your feet, I promise you that we shall pass the boundary hand in hand.
Be mine the punishment if we have decided wrongly. And now," he cried,
tossing his head in a defiant access of energy, "let us have done with
the morgue. For my part I refuse to acknowledge I am inside until the
gates clang behind me. As for you, you cannot help yourself. You must
do as I tell you. I never knew of a case where the question of Woman's
Rights was so promptly settled."

His vitality was infectious. Iris smiled again. Her sensitive highly
strung nerves permitted these sharp alternations between despondency
and hope.

"You must remember," he went on, "that the Dyak score is twenty-one to
the bad, whilst our loss stands at love. Dear me, that cannot be right.
Love is surely not a loss."

"A cynic might describe it as a negative gain."

"Oh, a cynic is no authority. He knows nothing whatever about the
subject."