“Of course you’re right,” he acquiesced, “and yet——”
“Cut out the ‘and yets’,” the doctor interrupted. “Get up on deck now and dance. That’s what’s good for you. Be normal and don’t harbour any thought that hasn’t a definite and reasonable origin. See you later. I may come up and have a turn myself.”
Gregory hurried on deck to be greeted a little reproachfully by Claire.
“How dare you keep me waiting,” she complained. “The orchestra have never played better and I’ve been nearly crazy sitting here by myself. Don’t let’s waste a minute now you have come.”
They were out of the region of storms. The awning had been rolled away and they danced on the outside deck with the orchestra half concealed in a little lounge. The minutes passed by in a sort of enchantment. From fox trots they passed to waltzes, both utterly unconscious that sometimes they were the only two dancing. Suddenly Claire drew back and looked at her companion.
“Why, I believe you’re tired!” she exclaimed. “Do let’s stop.”
“No, we’ll go on,” he answered quickly.
The music seemed to have gained a new and more passionate throb. The starlit night seemed to be leaning down, to close them in. There was a breath of magic in the languid air, in the perfume from her hair and clothes, swimming out into the stillness. Her eyes for a moment had half closed in faint response to the joy of it all. His arm suddenly tightened around her—tightened!
“Stop!” she ordered quickly.
He obeyed at once. She looked at him with an expression of amazement, in which was almost a gleam of terror. Then she turned away.