"You have remembered what I said that first time we walked home from Mr. Hamlen's!"
"I shall always remember it. From it I first learned the depth and beauty of your womanhood."
"Please, Mr. Huntington—" she begged deprecatingly; but her companion saw no reason to recall the words.
On the second morning the passengers came up on deck in anticipation of landing in the afternoon. Even Edith Stevens had passed through the ordeal without the fatal results she had predicted. Cosden seized the first opportunity for a final word of reconciliation.
"Don't give me up," he urged. "I've learned a lot of things down here, and I appreciate what you have done for me more than I have shown. I'm going to do a bit of sandpapering when I get home, and I want you to let me run in to see you once in a while in New York, just to report progress."
And Edith, either because after her experiences she felt too weak to combat him, or because she thought he needed encouragement, ingloriously capitulated.
The final good-byes were said on the dock, after the customs officials had completed their inspection.
"Of course we'll see you in New York now and then," Mrs. Thatcher said to the two men; "and when we open up at the shore we must plan a real reunion."
"I shall hope to have Hamlen here by then," Huntington remarked.
"You are more optimistic than I; but in the mean time I shall be eager to receive news of him through you."