“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.”