He found his way out on deck and leant across the rail. A gang-plank had been lowered to his right. Passengers came swarming up it, laughing with their friends—diners from Broadway who were speeding the parting guest. Some of them seemed to be dancing; the rhythm of the rag-time was in their steps. For the most part they were in evening-dress. The opera-cloaks and wraps of women flew back, exposing their throats and breasts. He twisted his mouth into a bitter smile. They employed their breasts for ornament, not for motherhood. They were all alike.
He had lost count of time while standing there. His eyes brooded sullenly through the drifting snow on the sullen water and the broken lights. Shouted warnings that the ship was about to sail were growing rare. The tardiest of the visitors were being hurried down the gang-plank. Sailors stood ready to cast away and put up the rail.
There was a commotion. Hazily he became aware of it A girl had become hysterical. She seemed alone; which was odd, for she was in evening-dress. She was explaining, almost crying, and wringing her hands. She was doing her best to force her way on deck; a steward and a man in uniform were turning her back.
Suddenly he realized. He was fighting towards her through the crowd. He had his hand on the steward’s shoulder. “Damn you. Don’t touch her.”
The ship’s eyes were on them. His arms went about her.
“I couldn’t stop away,” she whispered. “I had to come at the last moment. I was almost too late. I’ve been a little beast all day. I want to hear you say you forgive me, Teddy.”
He was thinking quickly.
“You’ve come by yourself?”
“I slipped away from a party. Nobody knows.”
“You can’t go back alone. I’ll come with you. I’m not sailing.”