"Take care," exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, holding up a warning finger. "I saw Mrs. Phelps glaring at you several times. Besides, Germans make impossible husbands. The common German is gross, the educated German is conceited. Both are insufferable. You'd be miserable."
"Don't be alarmed, dear," smiled Grace. "I think no more of the count than I do of those musicians, not so much. Their music charms and he bores."
Mr. Brown reappeared, followed by a steward carrying a tray on which were ices and petits fours.
"Oh, how perfectly sweet of you!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart. "I was dying for an ice—the heat is positively dreadful."
"It's getting warmer every minute," panted Grace. "I can hardly breathe. I think we're going to have a storm, don't you, Mr. Brown?"
"Oh—I don't know," replied the officer hesitatingly. "It's always hot in these latitudes, you know. This is nothing to what you'll get in Bombay."
"Yes, I know," said Grace, nibbling daintily at the delicious frozen delicacy, "but there's something weird in the unnatural stillness of the air. I don't like to see the water so calm."
The second officer shifted uneasily about on his feet. He knew well that there was every indication of a storm. The barometer had been falling steadily for hours. The latest reading marked ten-twenty-nine, which was the lowest he had ever seen it. The captain, too, was uneasy. In fact, they were only waiting for the dance to break up to hurry and get everything shipshape for the blow which they knew was inevitable. Meantime, he argued to himself, there was no use in alarming the ladies or spoiling their fun. He was about to put off further questioning by some reassuring remark, when just then a quartermaster ran up, and, touching his cap, said:
"Cap'n wishes to see you on the bridge, sir."
"Very well, I'll come at once."