"That is an unjust way of saying it," she interposed. And then, musingly: "Isn't it odd that you and I—standing here by the rail—have, in a way, held the destinies of the whole great earth in our hands? And now your remark makes me feel that you alone have stood for peace and the general good, and I for destruction and evil."
"I didn't mean that," Mr. Grimm said quickly. "You have done your duty as you saw it, and—"
"Failed!" she interrupted.
"And I have done my duty as I saw it."
"And won!" she added. She smiled a little sadly. "I think, perhaps you and I might have been excellent friends if it had not been for all this."
"I know we should have," said Mr. Grimm, almost eagerly. "I wonder if you will ever forgive me for—for—?"
"Forgive you?" she repeated. "There is nothing to forgive. One must do one's duty. But I wish it could have been otherwise."
The Statue of Liberty slid by, and Governor's Island and Fort Hamilton; then, in the distance, Sandy Hook light came into view.
"I'm going to leave you here," said Mr. Grimm, and for the first time there was a tense, strained note in his voice.
Miss Thorne's blue-gray eyes had grown mistily thoughtful; the words startled her a little and she turned to face him.