leaned relaxingly back in the broken-armed steamer-chair.
"Then we are acting together," she murmured, slowly, still a little mystified, still a little sceptical as to this new issue which was reuniting them.
"Yes, we're acting together—and we'll never let Ganley win!" said McKinnon.
It was something more than the fire of foolish ardour. And the woman at his side must have seen and known it, for a touch of colour came into her pale cheek. The electric fan purred and hummed on its little bracket. The soft and balmy night air beat on their faces. The gloom and quietness of the ship was about them.
"Won't you let me fight this fight out, for you?" he asked, surrendering to the tide of feeling that seemed tearing him from all his old anchorages.
"If we only could!" she said, inadequately.
"We can, together," he cried, with blind and unreasoning hope, resenting the look of something that seemed strangely akin to pity as she gazed up at him.
She did not answer, in words, but some slowly transforming emotion, some inner and unuttered capitulation slowly overbore the look of trouble that weighed upon her. Then she closed her eyes, as though shutting out some glimpse
