“Courage.”

“Love,” he insisted.

“Let us put them both together,” she said, “courage and love.”

“Love and courage,” he acquiesced.

“You for love, I for courage.”

Brassid watched her glowing young face and her strong young arms, as they struck out, in a new wonder. He had not yet solved the lovely Sea-Lady.

She went on with dilated nostrils:

“Say, Brassid, that makes me want to love you. An ancestor like that! Oh, it beats the whaler! That’s why I speak so often of him. It needed courage to be a whaler. Brassid, you never were so near winning me—isn’t that what you men call it?—as right now. Go on, Brassid, about your Indian-fighter!”

“My grandfather probably would have won you,” sighed Brassid.

“No; you. You are like him. I knew it from the first. Why didn’t you tell me that at first? You would do as he did—if there were Indians.”