Christy sighed prodigiously, the sigh of a man upon whose shoulders rest the cares and responsibility of almost the entire world. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," he apologized, "but I'll really have to handle this situation personally. Please add up the scores and I'll settle later."
When he had left, Rodrigo, who had taken a sudden lively interest in the dialogue, asked the sad-faced Englishman who remained, "Is the lady's name Sophie Binner?" His tone was more eager than he had intended it.
"Yes," replied Derrick. "Do you know her?"
"Slightly. I met her while I was at Oxford. I spent my vacations in London. She was a chorus girl then."
"She has the ingenue role in this show. Rather a decent voice. And a right pretty girl. But a fearful temper. Thinks she should have everything Trevor—Emily Trevor—the star—gets. Always kicking up a row. I don't see how Christy puts up with her, really." A few minutes later he suggested that Christy might need his help and departed in the direction of the recalcitrant actress' stateroom.
Rodrigo had an impulse to accompany him. Fancy Sophie Binner here on the same ship with him! He discovered to his surprise, for he had thought that their final quarrel in her London apartment had killed whatever attraction she had had for him, that he was experiencing a pleasant thrill at the anticipation of meeting her again. Worldly, selfish, bad-tempered Sophie. But pretty, tender-eyed Sophie also. He glanced at John, who, engrossed in the mathematics of the scores, had not listened to the revelatory conversation with Derrick. John Dorning, of Dorning and Son, the impeccable old concern of high ideals that Rodrigo was about to enter. Rodrigo sighed. He would have to abandon his wasteful life from now on. No more Sophies. A few nice girls perhaps that Dorning might introduce him to and whom he would have to treat with irreproachable decorum.
He watched the angular back of Clive Derrick disappearing through the door leading to the deck. He would not seek out Sophie. Of course, if he should come upon her accidentally, as he undoubtedly would sooner or later, unless her tantrum or rough weather confined her to her cabin the rest of the voyage, he could not be held accountable for that.
When, a half hour later, John expressed his intention of going to bed, Rodrigo denied that he was sleepy and said he would take a turn or two around the deck. His turn led him to the ballroom, which he entered as casually as his rather guilty conscience permitted. Sophie, he tried to tell himself, was undoubtedly still in her stateroom battling with Christy. But he knew very well that if there was one thing she preferred to quarreling, it was dancing.
The Italian band was dispensing a not very well executed American jazz tune. The room was fairly crowded with dancers. Rodrigo, smoking in the doorway and surveying the dancers idly, tried to persuade himself that he was looking for no one in particular. In a few minutes he saw her. In a white, creamy costume that harmonized excellently with her fluffy yellow bobbed hair, she looked the picture of animation and content as she gilded by quite close to him in the arms of Gilbert Christy. Rodrigo smiled. It was so much like the Sophie he knew, one minute swearing at a man and the next dancing with him. Admiration was mingled with his smile. She was prettier, better dressed and had more of an air about her than she had possessed when he had known her in London.
When the music stopped, Rodrigo contrived, almost without being aware he was contriving it, to be near Sophie and her partner. He had some uneasiness as to how she would receive him. Their last meeting had been so stormy. Sophie, glancing his way and recognizing him at once, glided up to him and seized both of the hands he outstretched to her. "Rodrigo!" she cried with the smiling exuberance Christy Revue audiences knew so well. "Fancy meeting you here! Do you know Mr. Christy?"