Rio turned in the adviser’s direction, shrugged his shoulders and nodded.
“I know him, Mrs. Idara.”
Roberts was sitting at the far end of the room. The north light from the window was so severe that it formed a blue overshadow on his dark hair and outlined his proud face in a series of sharp angles, unnoticed by any but Deane. He arose and bowed stiffly, his lips set.
Carol had been watching the newcomer intently all the while and now at this cue from Roberts, he skirted two chairs and smilingly eager, held out his hand to Rio who looked amused.
“My name is Stevens,” he said. “Carol Stevens.” Rio pulled his hand away but Carol continued. “I know why you boys look like sailors.” He glanced at Martin, then back at Rio. “You both do, you know. You get so nice and tan. My goodness!—but you travel so! It’s simply romantic, isn’t it, Deane?” he added, still staring at Rio.
“Yes,” Deane answered, preoccupied, her hand to her hair. “It is romantic, Carol.” She turned to Drew who was standing patiently by his chair, a rather vacant expression on his face.
Rio looked at the immaculate, slender fellow sourly when he was introduced. Drew, however, gestured in mild acknowledgment, maintaining his appearance of abstraction. Then deliberately he stepped forward and reached for a short, thick cigarette on the small end-table where Rio, partly leaning, had placed his hand. The cigarette glowed unnaturally as Drew touched a match to it, and he looked straight into the eyes of the sailor which were now even with his own. Then, as the two men stood there face to face, Drew’s lips parted slightly and the smoke curled in a heavy roll from his mouth. When the dense vapor disappeared, he smiled unevenly, and with eyes lowered, returned to his chair where he leaned upon it gracefully, one slim hand upon its back.
Martin watched the fantastic play in a stolid, philosophic mood, coldly regarding Rio’s frightened look.
Deane became uneasy.... “What was Drew’s secret action that had accomplished such an unthinkable expression upon Rio’s face. Was it,” she reminded herself, “the smoke?—or Drew’s protective anger based on his uncanny knowledge of her own affair beyond the door?—or was his melancholy fury a safekeeping just for Martin!”
Roberts had begun to cough violently. With each paroxysm he held a handkerchief closely to his lips. Deane went to him but he waved at her with petulance.