Suddenly from out of the clouds a long-lost moon appeared, and bathed that over-crowded ocean liner in a flood of silver. West left the old man to his potato and went to find the daughter.
She was standing in the moonlight by the rail of the forward deck, her eyes staring dreamily ahead toward the great country that had sent her forth light-heartedly for to adventure and to see. She turned as West came up.
“I have just been talking with your father,” he said. “He tells me he thinks you mean to take me, after all.”
She laughed. “To-morrow night,” she answered, “will be our last on board. I shall give you my final decision then.”
“But that is twenty-four hours away! Must I wait so long as that?”
“A little suspense won’t hurt you. I can’t forget those long days when I waited for your letters—”
“I know! But can’t you give me—just a little hint—here—to-night?”
“I am without mercy—absolutely without mercy!”
And then, as West’s fingers closed over her hand, she added softly: “Not even the suspicion of a hint, my dear—except to tell you that—my answer will be—yes.”