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‘There’s a little roll. Do you feel it?’ Eva demanded.

‘Perhaps we’d better split a pint of champagne.’

While he gave the order a short colloquy was taking place at the other table; presently a young man rose and came over to them.

‘Isn’t this Mr Adrian Smith?’

‘Yes.’

‘We wondered if we couldn’t put you do
wn for the deck-tennis tournament. We’re going to have a deck-tennis tournament.’

‘Why–‘ Adrian hesitated.

‘My name’s Stacomb,’ burst out the young man.’We all know your–your plays or whatever it is, and all that–and we wondered if you wouldn’t like to come over to our table.’

Somewhat overwhelmed, Adrian laughed: Mr Stacomb, glib, soft, slouching, waited; evidently under the impression that he had delivered himself of a graceful compliment.

Adrian, understanding that, too, replied: ‘Thanks, but perhaps you’d better come over here.’

‘We’ve got a bigger table.’

‘But we’re older and more–more settled.’

The young man laughed kindly, as if to say, ‘That’s all right.’

‘Put me down,’ said Adrian.’How much do I owe you?’

‘One buck. Call me Stac.’

‘Why?’ asked Adrian, startled.

‘It’s shorter.’

When he had gone they smiled broadly.

‘Heavens,’ Eva gasped, ‘I believe they are coming over.’

They were. With a great draining of glasses, calling of waiters, shuffling of chairs, three boys and two girls moved to the Smiths’ table. If there was any diffidence, it was confined to the hosts; for the new additions gathered around them eagerly, eyeing Adrian with respect–too much respect–as if to say: ‘This was probably a mistake and won’t be amusing, but maybe we’ll get something out of it to help us in our after life, like at school.’

In a moment Miss D’Amido changed seats with one of the men and placed her radiant self at Adrian’s side, looking at him with manifest admiration.

‘I fell in love with you the minute I saw you,’ she said audibly and without self-consciousness; ‘so I’ll take all the blame for butting in. I’ve seen your play four times.’

Adrian called a waiter to take their orders.

‘You see,’ continued Miss D’Amido, ‘we’re going into a storm, and you might be prostrated the rest of the trip, so I couldn’t take any chances.’

He saw that there was no undertone or innuendo in what she said, nor the need of any. The words themselves were enough, and the deference with which she neglected the young men and bent her politeness on him was somehow very touching. A little glow went over him; he was having rather more than a pleasant time.

Eva was less entertained; but the flat-nosed young man, whose name was Butterworth, knew people that she did, and that seemed to make the affair less careless and casual. She did not like meeting new people unless they had ‘something to contribute’, and she was often bored by the great streams of them, of all types and conditions and classes, that passed through Adrian’s life. She herself ‘had everything’–which is to say that she was well endowed with talents and with charm–and the mere novelty of people did not seem a sufficient reason for eternally offering everything up to them.

Half an hour later when she rose to go and see the children, she was content that the episode was over. It was colder on deck, with a damp that was almost rain, and there was a perceptible motion. Opening the door of her state-room she was surprised to find the cabin steward sitting languidly on her bed, his head slumped upon the upright pillow. He looked at her listlessly as she came in, but made no move to get up.

‘When you’ve finished your nap you can fetch me a new pillow-case,’ she said briskly.

Still the man didn’t move. She perceived then that his face was green.