A pause; then he plunged. "I should like to have a word with you—alone."
She met his gaze unsmilingly. For a moment he thought she would refuse.
"There's to be a dance to-night—you knew it?" He shook his head. "Suppose I give you—the third?"
"I'd prefer not to dance," he returned solemnly.
"Then we'll go on deck."
8
The night was blue and moonless; no ordinary blue, but the clear, rich shade found in the depths of a sapphire, and it poured out as from an invisible fountain, blending the sky and sea; it caught a thousand stars in its flood and they, like diamonds cast into an unstirred pool, pulsed with lazy insolence above the oily swells.
Trent, leaning on the port rail, pipe between his teeth, heard the throbbing violins cease. He straightened up sharply. There was a patter of applause from the main salon; an encore. He knocked the dottle from his pipe and sauntered nearer the doorway; there he waited impatiently for the encore to end.
Once more the violins ceased; a ripple of applause. But the music did not resume. Several couples emerged from the salon. Dana Charteris appeared as Trent was within several paces of the door; paused a moment in the frame, her hair glimmering in the brazen light. Then she saw him; joined him.
"Shall we walk?" she asked. He thought there was a tremor in her voice.