Pembroke looked surprised. "She—ah—rejected—"
"I did not say that I had proposed to her," said I.
"If you haven't, why haven't you?"
"It is strange." As his face assumed an anxious tinge, I laughed. "My dear relative, go ahead and win her, if you can; you have my best wishes. She is nothing to me. There was a time—ah, well, we all can look back and say that. If it isn't one woman it's another."
Sunshine came into Pembroke's face again. "Ideal or not ideal, I am going to make the effort."
"Success to you!" patting his shoulder. He was good to look at, and it was my opinion that Phyllis might do worse. We miss a good deal in this world by being over particular.
We were coming into Trafalgar. Nelson stood high up in the yellow fog.
"Nature is less gracious than history sometimes," mused Pembroke, gazing up. "She is doing her best to dull the lustre of the old gentleman. Ah, those were days when they had men."
"We have them still," said I. "It is not the men, but the opportunities, which are lacking."
"Perhaps that is so. Yet, it is the great man who makes them."