more interest when you see her." This was thought, not spoken.
Fitzgerald wasn't going to rhapsodize over Miss Killigrew's charms. It
would have been not only incautious, but suspicious. Aloud, he said:
"She has a will of her own, I take it; however, of a quiet, resolute
order."

"So long as she is not capricious, and does not interfere with my
work--"

"Or peace of mind!" interrupted Fitzgerald, with prophetic suddenness,
which was modified by laughter.

"No, my friend; no woman has ever yet stirred my heart, though many
have temporarily captured my senses. A man in my position has no right
to love," with a dignity which surprised his auditor.

Fitzgerald looked down at the wheels. There was something even more
than dignity, an indefinable something, a superiority which
Fitzgerald's present attitude of mind could not approach.

"This man," he mused, "will afford some interesting study. One would
think that nothing less than a grand duke was riding in this rattling
old carryall." There was silence for a time. "I must warn you,
Breitmann, that, in all probability, you will have your meals at the
table with the admiral and his daughter; at least, in this house."

"At the same table? It would hardly be so in Europe. But it pleases
me. I have been alone so much that I grow moody; and that is not good."

There was always that trifling German accent, no matter what tongue he