“She was made, just right, by magic; a ship of dreams,” he said. “Look how she glimmers, splashed with cadmium radiance, on velvety blue; and her formlessness outside the lights wraps her in mystery. Yet you get a hint of swiftness.”
“You know she has power and speed,” Bethune interrupted.
“No,” said Jake firmly, “it’s not a matter of knowledge; she appeals to your imagination. You feel that airy fabric must travel like the wind.” Then he turned to Dick, who was steering. “There’s a boat ahead with a freight of señoritas in white and orange gossamer; they know something about grace of line in this country. Are you going to rush past them, like a dull barbarian, in this kicking, snorting launch?”
“I’ll make for the other side of the ship, if you like.”
“You needn’t go so far,” Jake answered with a chuckle. “But you might muzzle your rackety engine.”
Dick, who had seen the boat, gave her room enough, but let the engine run. He imagined that Jake’s motive for slowing down might be misunderstood by the señoritas’ guardian, since a touch of Moorish influence still colors the Spaniard’s care of his women. As the launch swung to starboard her red light shone into the boat, and Dick recognized Don Sebastian sitting next a stout lady in a black dress. There were three or four girls beside them, and then Dick’s grasp on the tiller stiffened, for the ruby beam picked out Clare’s face. He thought it wore a tired look, but she turned her head, as if dazzled, and the light passed on, and Dick’s heart beat as the boat dropped back into the gloom. Since Kenwardine had sent Clare with Don Sebastian, he could not be going, and Dick might find an opportunity for speaking to her alone. He meant to do so, although the interview would not be free from embarrassment. Then he avoided another boat, and stopping the engine, steered for the steamer’s ladder.