The process of making a tour of the Sphinx had been a lengthy one. The yacht was beautifully appointed, and there had been much to examine and admire. Brett, who loved every inch of her, from the marvellous little gold figure of a sphinx, which he had had specially designed and carved as a mascot, down to the polished knobs and buttons in the engine-room, had expatiated with considerable length and fervour upon her various beauties and advantages, and by the time he and Ann emerged on to the deck once more it was to find it deserted by the rest of the party.
Brett moved a couple of deck-chairs into a sheltered corner.
“You must be tired,” he said remorsefully. “I’ve kept you standing about an unconscionable time while I yarned on about my old tub. If you’ll sit down here, I’ll go and fetch you a wrap.”
Ann subsided into one of the chairs not unthankfully.
“But I don’t want a wrap,” she protested.
“You will, presently. You must remember it’s September, even though it is a warm evening.”
He departed on his errand, returning shortly with a wrap for her shoulders, together with a light rug which he proceeded to tuck carefully round her. She was reminded of the first occasion on which they had met, when the charming way in which he had waited upon Lady Susan had moved her to the reflection that he might be rather an adept in the art of spoiling any woman. But she had not forgotten that he would want to master her first—as he had mastered the bay mare, afterwards coaxing her into friendship.
They conversed desultorily for a time. Then, tossing away the cigarette he was smoking, Brett shot an abrupt question at her.
“Well, so you like the yacht?” he demanded.
She nodded.