"Why, Jack Castleport!" cried Katrine, with eyes open to their widest. "You don't mean that you ran away with the Merle! I never can believe it!"
"It's true, though," he responded. "Do you blame me so very much?"
Her glance dropped before his, and her manner instantly lost its boldness.
"I—Why, of course that depends," she murmured.
"Depends on what?"
"On—how—how necessary it was for him to see his friend."
"Oh," Jack cried. "I had to see her! You know I had to come, Katrine! I had to tell you I love you, and I stole Uncle Randolph's yacht because he wouldn't let me come any other way. I had to come."
He sprang up in his excitement, and stood before her, his hands twisting each other in a way odd enough for one of so much self-control.
"You must have known how I cared for you, Katrine. I couldn't tell you without making a clean breast of this, but don't be too hard on me. I had to come."